


In This Twilight

by FoxglovePrincess



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexuality, Brief Interactions with Other Characters, Cursed, Dating, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Flirting, Fluff, Happy Ending, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Sex, Innuendo, Kinda Fast Pacing, Magic, Major Character Injury, Manipulation, Obsession, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Persistent Courtship, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Relationship Discussions, Requited Love, Romance, Sex, Stalking, Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), Talk of Mental Illness/Health, The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, anxiety/depression, fairytales - Freeform, oblivious OC, original fairytale, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2020-11-26 02:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 48,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20922992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxglovePrincess/pseuds/FoxglovePrincess
Summary: Once upon a time, there was an enchantress who lived in a forest with only a lonely maiden in a tower as her friend. And once there was a shopkeeper in Storybrooke who barely made it through the day. When things begin to change, will she be ready for what awaits?(In other words, the life of an enchantress from the Enchanted Forest both in Storybrooke and her homeland.)





	1. And In The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been working on this story since around 2013—re-writing and editing until I just recently finished it. I thought I would share it. My posting schedule will be about once every week to account for last minute editing and sprucing.  
This story is set up vaguely like an episode of the TV show with events from The Enchanted Forest interspersed between events in Storybrooke. However, this story takes place over the entirety of the first season and focuses mainly on my original character(s) and their surroundings/reactions/friends.
> 
> There is a pervasive theme/discussion of depression and anxiety that the main character faces. If that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read.
> 
> This story is unBeta’d so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Also, title taken from “Cosmic Love” by Florence + the Machine.
> 
> This work is not to be reposted on any other site without my permission.

I sigh as I sit in my bed, typing. Another entry in my journal about how I feel as if I live the same day over and over. My hands rest on my keyboard as my laptop heats my lap. Still straddling the line of slumber and reality, I wonder what the rest of the world dreams about as I sit awake. The sun hasn’t even broken over the horizon yet in the quaint Maine town. My eyes purposefully avoid the little clock in the corner of my monitor. I start to type again—trying to remember the dream that shattered any hope of returning to sleep. All I remember is seeing a cloaked figure retreating to a cottage and feeling as though I were at last at home. It’s a dream I feel I have experienced many times—allowing me to describe these imaginings in their minutest detail. My fingers dance across the keys, hoping that I explain everything as I should. I do not want to leave any detail out, or left unexplained. My goal is to be thorough.

A thump from below startles me and I jump from my rest. There is life moving about now. The sleepy town begins to wake. My downstairs neighbors, a car mechanic and her husband, will be going about their day. It’s still too early in the morning for the hairdresser across the hall. The other tenants within the building will be waking as well and preparing to work for their wages. Rent is due any day now.

I stretch my legs and feet. While my laptop powers off, I get accustomed to the chilly air that lurks inside my loft. The temperature is at once a comfort and cruelly cold. I shut my laptop and walk to my bathroom so I may prepare for the day. I need to shower away the tired feeling that stays hidden just behind my eyes. I don’t want others to see the exhaustion that lurks there. And I know how well everything melts away in a warm shower.

A quiet tune escapes my lips as I lather my hair with shampoo, then rinse, and apply conditioner. As I run my fingers through the wet tresses and make sure the conditioner has been washed away, I think about the vaguely familiar figure in my dream. As my hands take my body soap and lather the planes of my flesh, I am reminded of the feeling of safety and comfort. It felt so right, yet so far away. I wash my face and bury it under the shower head. I cannot tell if I cry at all as I stand there with my face pelted by water.

I turn off the water and get out of the shower, clean and ready for the day. I dry myself off as I inhale deeply. I don’t want to linger on my dream anymore—but the shower did not wash it away as I had hoped.

I blow dry my hair and gaze upon my reflection in the mirror. No one else may see it, but I can clearly trace out the lines of fatigue centered around my eyes. I bend at the waist, tossing my hair over my face to finish drying it. Really, I just don’t want to look at my reflection for a few moments.

When the texture of my hair feels dry, I flip my head back. The curls bounce around my ears and slightly sag around my shoulders as they twist toward my lower back. My hands mess with a few strands before I move on to apply some makeup. I moisturize my skin, cover up my dark circles, and even out the tone of my face. I focus on applying a hint of eye shadow to my eye lids and a few strokes of mascara to my curled lashes. Knowing that pale is the only color to my skin, I brighten up my cheeks with blush. I use a tinted chapstick for my lips and look at the finished product in the mirror. Decent, to say something; human, to say the least. I hum in resigned acceptance.

I move on to my wardrobe. I simply dress to please myself, not anyone else. Today I want to feel warm and safe. I look to my clothes for comfort since I find so little in my day to day routine. I muse for a second on the implications of the safety in my dreams compared to my opposing reality. I grab some underclothes and yank them on my body. I pull on a pair of jeans, a warm plain sweater, and grab my boots and some socks from the bottom of the wardrobe.

My feet pad down my stairs and into the main area of my loft; wherein lie the kitchen and living room areas. My hands rummage through my cupboards looking for my breakfast. I grab out a bowl, my cereal, and a spoon. My milk sits in the fridge in the exact place where I put it yesterday. I sigh and grab it. I pour my cereal and milk and start to eat. I do not sit, but instead lean on the island that sits in the middle of my kitchen. There is silence everywhere except for the crunches of my chewing.

I almost feel like talking to myself, just so there might be something to fill up the space of my apartment. Just as I think to speak, my cat Marie jumps up on the counter beside me. I smile and pick up my bowl. I don’t feel like ingesting cat hair right at this moment. I turn quickly to bring out her cat food, so she too can have some breakfast.  
  
“Well, Marie,” I start speaking to her. “Do you think today will be a good day?”

She meows back at me, lifting her head for a second before quickly finishing her meal. A small smile graces my lips. I munch on my cereal and drink the remaining milk before I start to speak again.

“Do you think I can stay here with you today, instead of going outside?” As I speak into the silence of my apartment, I don’t linger on the idea that I may be considered a crazy cat lady.

Marie walks away from me, jumping off the counter and stalking toward my front closet—the closet that contains my coats and some of my scarves. I huff, taking her movement for the answer that it is, and grab my phone from the charging station on the counter along with my shoes, sitting on my couch to pull them on. Each boot is a challenge. Finally, I grab a heavy pea coat from my closet along with a tan plaid scarf and my purse.

Before walking to the door, I stop to grab my keys, my watch, and a book I’ve been reading. I glance at my face in the mirror that hangs above the entryway table. My eyes look dark and my reflection begs me not to leave the security, safety, and warmth of my loft.

I hear a meow at my feet. Marie stares up at me and urges me out the door. I bend down and scratch her head.

“I get it.” I roll my eyes and grab the doorknob. “Be good today,” I whisper to her. She rubs her face on my hand.

I straighten up, open the door, and walk outside. Locking the door behind me, I walk to the stairs beside the old fashioned elevator. Quickly walking down the steps, I run into the elderly neighbor that lives on the floor below me.

“Good morning, Lee,” she says as I pass her by. I respond with a small smile. She continues to the elevator and I watch as she ascends to her floor.

I keep walking out the front door of the building and feel the bite of the chilly wind. The breeze always blows chilly in Storybrooke, Maine.

Outside, people are starting to bustle and get into their cars. They are heading to work as I am. Some of the neighbors from my building nod and wave in acknowledgement of me—I flash a grin in return.

I walk along the streets, turning the corner and heading toward Granny’s Diner for my morning cup of coffee. The bell dings as I enter. I see Granny’s familiar face and Ruby, leaning on the counter.

“You here for the first cup of coffee today, Lee?” Granny asks me.

“Yes, please,” I say taking a seat at the end of the counter. Granny smiles while grabbing a mug, and taking the coffee pot from its place to pour my first cup of the day.

Ruby grabs some cream and sugar packets to set in front of me. I lace the coffee with cream, staring into the cup as the white swirls turn the blackish liquid to a caramel color. When I take a sip, and am pleased with the result of my doctoring, I settle in and place my book on the counter, opening the pages to my bookmark.

“What are you reading?” Ruby asks, sidling up beside me. I look at the cover of the book. She leans down toward me, her forearms on the counter.

“Just some book I picked up at the bookstore.” I flash the cover in her direction. She tilts her head to read the title. A small ‘hmm’ escapes her lips before the bell jingles over the door and another patron enters.

Ruby visibly perks up before me—donning a large smile and taking a step away from me. I only glance up for a second taking notice of her gestures.

“Mary Margaret,” Ruby smiles over at the door. “Good morning.”

“Ruby, I’m surprised you’re up so early today,” Mary Margaret replies taking a seat a few stools away from me at the counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the elementary school teacher send a small wave in my direction. I return her greeting with a small nod and smile.

From that point on, I begin to read, losing myself in the story and only resurfacing to the real world when Ruby refills my cup and I need to fix my coffee once more. Other patrons of Granny’s Diner come in to eat their breakfast or get a cup of coffee like me. A couple diners pay their checks and leave. I finish six chapters of my book before I realize I’m late. Glancing at the clock, I realize I have stayed an hour longer than I planned. My store was set to open at 9:00 am, but it was too late for that now.

“Ruby,” I say glancing around the counter and rummaging through my purse for my money. She saunters over. “Keep the change.” I slam the crumpled bills on the counter and grab up my things, heading hurriedly toward the door.

Outside, I throw on my coat and walk toward my store, stowing things in my purse on the way.

Not paying attention to where I am headed, I run head first into the mayor. A sense of power and disgruntlement flows off her in waves—I can’t bring myself to look her in the eyes.

“Madame Mayor, please excuse me,” I squeak out, my eyes locked on the concrete of the sidewalk.

“In a hurry, I see,” she says. “Your store says that you open at 9:00 each morning. Is that a mistake?” The condescension in her tone makes my knees almost buckle. Never one for confrontation, I breathe deeply through my nose and try to calm my racing heart.

“No, just lost track of time I suppose.” I glance at her face. In order to speak to her, I stare at her forehead. I cannot meet her eyes.

She nods her head as if to signal that she understands, then speaks saying, “Well, I was disappointed to stop by your store and see that it was still closed. I have an event next week and need a new dress so I can impress those attending.”

I nod, probably looking a little dumb in her eyes. “I have many dresses in my store. I can take you there now, if you like, and you can look at them, or, since I know how busy you are, I can set a few aside for you to browse through at your convenience.” I stumble over my words, but in my mind, I start cataloguing all of the dresses the mayor might be interested in for an event. I have no formal dresses, but still a few that may fit what she has in mind.

“The latter would be fine. I’m looking for a nice cocktail dress, appropriate and classy. I prefer dark colors—red fits my complexion nicely.” As she speaks, she doesn’t seem to be looking at me anymore, already thinking about other tasks.

“I believe I have some nice deep red dresses in stock that might fit the bill,” I say scrambling through my inventory in my brain. I take out a small notebook from my bag and make a note to remember the mayor’s request.

She gives me a tight smile, one with no feeling of warmth behind it, and pushes past me to continue toward her office.

A deep exhale pushes past my lips as I put away my notebook and continue walking to my store across the street from the diner. I come upon my storefront, and take out my keys to unlock the door.

“I see the mayor accosted you outside Granny’s.”

I jump, surprised by the voice behind me. But once looking at the person, I am not surprised by his presence.

“Archie,” I say, smiling. “I have those clothes you ordered—a jacket, a new scarf, and some shirts, I believe.” I push the door open, the bell jingling overhead. “They’re just in the back—let me get them for you.”

“Thank you, Lee,” Archie says following me into the store. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

I walk into the back of the store and unlock my coat cupboard to put away my personal belongings. I lock it and grab the pile of clothes Archie ordered.

“What do you mean?” I say walking out of the back room and over to the register. “Do you want to pick these up now or not?” I place the clothes on the counter and turn to Archie as he walks forward.

“You cancelled your last three appointments. We were getting to an understanding about your feelings of unhappiness and discontent.” Archie places his umbrella on the counter. He takes out his wallet. As I ring up his purchases, we stand in silence.

“That’ll be $64.89,” I say avoiding his eyes. I shove his garments into a bag for him to carry and try to think of a way to explain myself. He opens his wallet and looks at me expectantly, as if we are in a session now. A sigh escapes my lips. “I’m just mulling in depression right now and I don’t think that there is anything that will help me with that. Not therapy, not drugs, nothing you can do.”

Archie hands me the cash and I give him his change. It is a silent exchange, but I know that he is staring and trying to figure me out. He wants to know why I’m resisting. But I have no reason, other than the feeling like talking to Archie is getting me nowhere. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, as if searching for the right words.

“Look, Archie,” I say. “I’ve just been really busy with the shop and other things. I don’t have time for therapy—even though your office is right on the second floor, I know. I’m sure you were helping, but I have more important things to focus on right now.”

Archie looks on the verge of saying something, but does not. I rip off his receipt and shove it in the bag with his clothes. He grabs his things and starts to retreat from the store. He pauses at the door.

“I am only concerned about your wellbeing, Lee. I’m here to help you, so that you can help yourself.” He turns and opens the door. The bell jingles.

“Archie,” I call after him. He turns with a look of hesitant hope on his face. “Your umbrella.” I pick it up from the counter and walk it over for him.

“Thanks, Lee.” He grabs the umbrella. He gives a tight smile.

“If I ever do need you, I know which number to call,” I try to reassure him. I don’t know that I will ever call him for an appointment. But he knows that I know I can.

Archie walks out of my store with a small wave goodbye.

I walk to the back of my store and open up the cupboard to grab out my book. I know that the people of Storybrooke who walk into my shop won’t mind that I read while working—especially when all of the recent orders and restocking have been completed. I grab my notebook as well, full of a checklist of tasks to complete for the day.

I drag a stool to sit behind the counter. Before sitting down, I check my list and find my note for Mayor Mills’ dresses. I walk around the store, grabbing nice dresses that I think she might like—classy, in dark colors. I make sure to take my time and pause to help other customers who enter the store looking or browsing through the selection. It takes longer than expected to finish my task for the mayor, but eventually, I find all dresses I think will appeal to her. The bell above the door rings as I walk to the back to hang the dresses aside for the mayor.

“I’ll be right out. One second, please,” I call back over my shoulder. I hang up the dresses and walk out. Standing there is the one man in town I don’t really want to see.

“Hello, Lee,” he says leaning on his cane. “How is your day going?”

I tense up in his presence. Walking quickly over to the cash register, I open the drawer and grab out the money roll behind the slots for cash and coins.

“Here, Mr. Gold. It’s all there—store and apartment.” I hand over my month’s rent to my landlord. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” My hands fidget in front of my stomach as I wait on his answer. Just the man standing before me makes me feel uneasy. I don’t expect him to reply to me with anything specific. Usually he just wants the rent and then leaves. He doesn’t usually come to me for deals or favors. I don’t have anything to offer him.

“Not today, Ms. Knight. With your rent paid in full, our business is done.”

Mr. Gold leaves the store and I am left standing behind my counter, waiting for another customer to come in. I take deep breaths as I grab out my book and begin to read. I pull my stool closer and sit down. I get comfortable leaning over the counter to read.

Customers come in throughout the day—to pick up orders or look at the merchandise hanging around the store. The day to day running of my store does not take much energy. I occasionally have to help people fill out a custom order form. Sometimes people ask my opinion on what they should buy. Often, I sit reading behind the counter.

Once a week, I fill out the restocking forms. I send them out and the clothes are delivered to my back room, which I then sort to special orders and regular stock. I organize my store, make sure everything has a price tag and fill the shelves and racks with new merchandise. It’s an easy life. I don’t really have to worry. Being one of the only stores in town that sells clothes, I don’t have much competition for my merchandise. I have a low cost supplier and can sell for a reasonable price. And the people of Storybrooke are loyal customers. They keep coming back for the same clothes. A replacement for their favorite jacket or shirt, or something ‘new’ for a special occasion. My life, in comparison to others in the town, is pretty secure, at least financially.

Just before one in the afternoon, the bell dings over my door and someone walks in. I look up from my book. A smile breaks across my face as I sit up. I put my bookmark in my place and set aside my reading.

“Monty,” I greet enthusiastically. “Nice to see you for lunch.”

My friend Monty walks over to the counter and places the lunch boxes before me. He’s been making me lunches for years. We’ve been best friends since I don’t know when. He’s always been a part of my life. He enjoys cooking and I am always happy to enjoy his food.

“Let me stick on the lunch sign, lock the door, and we can eat in the back room,” I say getting up from my seat and pulling out the ‘Be Back Soon’ sign. I stick the sign on my door, lock the deadbolt, and walk Monty to the back room. I grab two water bottles from a small refrigerator and put them on the folding table—really just a regular table that I use for folding when the new merchandise comes in, hence the name. We grab some chairs and take a seat.

He unwraps the lunches and un-stacks the Tupperware. He passes one to me with an easy smile on his face.

“I hope your day is going well,” he says. He also hands me a napkin, which I unfold across my lap.

“There’s nothing that I can complain about,” I reply. “You?”

“Our produce was short today. There was supposed to be a really nice supply of squash, but it was forgotten by the truck.” As his wistful expression turns grumpy by his news, an amused smile bursts over my face. My head cocks to the side and I listen to him complain about how perfect the squash could have been for a dish he wanted to try making.

Monty works as a manager at the locally sourced grocery store. He makes the orders and helps keep things running. He likes his job well enough, but his real passion is for cooking. I don’t know what I would do without him, but sometimes, I think he should try for something more.

I open the Tupperware and take out the sandwich. Taking a bite, I sigh in delight.

“Monty, you are a godsend.” I nearly swoon. He’s made a sandwich with extra sharp cheddar, thinly carved ham, and some apple butter, which is most likely homemade.

“It was nothing.” He pulls out his own sandwich and starts to eat as well.

He’s prepared a sandwich and a small salad for each of us. It looks like some kind of professionally made lunch box. I smile down at the time he had certainly put into making this lunch.

“You know, Monty,” I start to say. “You do too much for me.”

“I enjoy doing it, Lee. You deserve it,” he insists. I don’t look up from my food as I drizzle the salad dressing over the lettuce in the lunch container.

“I don’t know about that,” I mumble in return, biting my lip when I’m done talking. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but gazes analytically at me.

Monty is my best friend. He always seems to understand me—my hopes, my dreams, and my problems. He sees through me and I can tell him anything—and vice versa.

“Look, Lee, I know you especially need it right now. Don’t worry about why I’m doing it. Just enjoy—that’s all I ask.” He smiles and leans back in his chair, feeding off my delight over the good food. I nod with a small smile and take a big bite out of my sandwich.

We chat through the rest of our lunch. He watched a funny movie the night before. And he had a weird dream about penguins. I tell him about seeing Archie and our conversation. He doesn’t judge, but insists that I turn to either him or Archie if it comes to a point where I need help. When we are done eating, he packs away the containers and gives me a bearhug goodbye.

I smile and wave as he walks out the door. I take off the ‘Be Back Soon’ sign and take a seat again behind the counter with my book.

As the day passes I watch as people walk into the store. I watch as each of them grabs what they always wear—a new hat to replace the old one, a new sweater with the same design as the last one, new jeans in the same cut.

I’m halfway through my book by the time the bell jingles and the mayor walks in through my door.

“Madam Mayor,” I say straightening up and getting off the stool. I glance quickly at my watch to check the time. She stands in my doorway, imposing and intimidating. Looking as though she has little time for anything unnecessary, I get out from behind the counter and gesture to the back. “I have the dresses set aside. Let me just grab them.”

I pull the hangers from the back and walk out to see the mayor looking down at her phone. She glances up at me, the dress hangers held at my shoulder height to keep them away from the floor.

“Are they in my size?” she asks cooly.

My head nods frantically as I quickly reply, “Yes, ma’am.” She nods and gestures for me to show her the clothes I picked for her. She examines each one as I place each on an empty rack by the dressing rooms—as if one dress could change everything. She tries on a few with a critical eye, disregarding the other candidates that I reintegrate to the racks.

“This one,” she finally decides after a time of contemplation. I nod and ring up the maroon, form-fitting dress at the cash register. Though she still looks unimpressed, as always, she pays for the dress and leaves with it draped over her arm in a disposable garment bag.

As the bell chimes with her leaving, I sigh in relief and slump against the counter. Madam Mayor and Mr. Gold—the two most intimidating and powerful citizens in town. And they both stopped by in one day. My fingers card through my hair as I pull myself together and stand upright.

The bell chimes once more and I look up to greet the new customers—just ordinary citizens of Storybrooke looking through the store before I close promptly at 7:30 in the evening.

When the customers leave, I cradle my head in my hands watching and waiting for the clock to strike time for me to close up shop. My mind drifts to my reoccurring dream as I watch the hands tick by. My eyes blur and I zone out.


	2. In the Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to the life of the enchantress as she wanders the forest. (shorter chapter)

“Sir, could you spare some water? Please?” The old woman asked as she clutched her cloak around her frail frame. She looked into the eyes of the knight sitting astride his horse. “My journey has been long and my water has dried up. If you could only offer a sip, please. I would be most grateful.”

The knight looked down in disdain at the crone knelt beside his horse. Her pathetic figure covered in mud and brambles.

“Rise, old woman and leave me be.” The horse sidestepped and moved as the knight tried to reign it in. “I have no water to spare for the likes of you,” he sneered as he began to ride away.

The old hag stood from her position of supplication. Her hand rose to remove the hood of her cloak off her head, revealing her true form no longer concealed by magic. The beguiling enchantress watched the back of the knight as he rode his horse. Without a single word, she lifted her hand flicking a swirl of magic toward the man. It swam through the air, attaching itself to the back of the shining knight as he galloped away.

The enchantress tilted her head, hearing the song of the universe calling to her, informing her of another magical presence nearby. Listening to the source of her power, the woman turned to gaze upon the form of the Dark One.

“Could not spare water, even for an old, frail woman. He deserves what he gets.” The Dark One gave a maniacal laugh as he clutched his stomach. “Though I suppose it does not matter that you have no actual need for such things.” Leaning against a tree a few feet away, he assessed the woman’s form with a tilt of his head.

“Rumplestiltskin,” The enchantress smiled tightly as she addressed the magical entity. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” She opened up her cloak as a leopard stalked out—her constant companion and protector. The cat’s eyes instantly noticed the Dark One’s energy and fell into a defensive posture with a growl. “Antoinette seems happy to see you.” The sarcasm was not lost on Rumplestiltskin, but he made no comment. Both knew the threat he could pose. A smug smile crossed his features as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You know, dearie, if you keep tricking people and cursing them, someone will figure out it was you.” He pointed a mockingly accusing finger at the enchantress before him. Her brow furrowed in confusion. He was keeping something back—steering the conversation around his real intent.

“They won’t,” she replied simply. She made sure to keep her posture open and unthreatening, knowing that the Dark One considered them friendly acquaintances—a familiarity she could not take for granted. “My magic is not so easily traced to the source. It bolsters either fortune or tragedy when they come, depending on what a person deserves.”

“Ah, but what of the stories I have heard—a girl who speaks nothing but gold and silver, her sister vomiting filth and frogs?” The Dark One inquired in a sing-song tone of voice. The enchantress did not smile. “Perhaps it is time to give up your task—hang up the cloak, as it were.” His eyes roamed over the fabric of the enchantress’s cloak, seeming to calculate its value. Hands clasped before him, as if tempted to rip it off the woman’s body.  
  
The enchantress’s shoulders stiffened. Another rendition of a familiar song and dance—this conversation repeated between the two of them in various iterations both friendly and not. Her cloak, the way she connected to her power.

“Those are only legends now,” she replied cooly. “I was much younger then and have learned better.” Her head tilted as the universe whispered wisdom to her, letting the enchantress attune to her magic. “What you speak of happened almost centuries before you became the Dark One.” She grinned almost mischievously. “I may look young, but you forget that I am much older than you Rumplestiltskin.”

The Dark One began to circle like a shark smelling blood. “Yes, dearie, but—”

“And you forget that even if I relinquished my power, hung up my cloak as it were,” the enchantress interrupted as she tracked the man with her eyes, “it still would not help _you_.” The Dark One stopped in his tracks before the woman, clicking his heels together. “You would not be able to use the power channeled through my cloak for your own purposes. That is not how it works.”

“Of course not, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin conceded. “That was never my intention in bringing up the subject.” The enchantress knew the lie in the words without the universe informing her of it. “You just never know who is out to destroy any magic in this forest.” His eyes roamed around the surrounding woods. “You’d best be off, I have a deal to make.” His hand flicked the air dismissing her. She knew when not to push the Dark One, especially when he seemed upset.

The enchantress bowed to her almost friend once more with a last tight-lipped smile, called back the defensive leopard to the safety of her cloak, and with a turn, vanished into a foggy mist of magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting 2 chapters today to introduce both storylines that this will be following—in Storybrooke (first chapter) and in The Enchanted Forest (second chapter).


	3. Surprise Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running into some new faces and some family time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m getting this chapter out while I still have Internet. Let me know what you think!

Glancing at the clock, I realize I have stayed much later than intended. I shake my head and gather my things from the back room—throwing on my coat and scarf while grabbing my purse. I lock the door to my store and put away my keys in the pocket of my purse.

The wind nips at my nose and sends a shiver down my spine. I wrap my arms around my body and start walking toward home. My eyes lower to a point just before my feet as I trudge along.

Across the street, a splash of yellow in my peripheral vision catches my attention—an old yellow Volkswagen Bug parked in the middle of the road. A woman and boy stand outside it, seeming to discuss something with the woman looking mildly irritated. The woman is unfamiliar to me. However, the boy is Henry, the mayor’s son.

My interest piqued, I take a step closer, wanting to ascertain as to whether the woman poses a threat to Henry. My eyes catch sight of Archie approaching with Pongo, his dog. A small sigh escapes my lips as I realize there is no need for me to intervene. My shoulders slump in relief—liking to avoid confrontation and strangers. My body turns away from the scene to continue on home when a figure blocks my path—colliding with me.

“Sorry,” the person—a man—says. Their hands lightly grasp my elbows as if to steady me. I glance up at their face, seeing intense eyes under thick furrowed brows and an apologetic smile on pouty lips. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Too distracted by the new face in town.” He gestures to the yellow vehicle which now drives down the main street with both the woman and Henry in the car.

“Oh,” I mutter and nod, not quite sure what to say. I scramble for a moment before I respond. “No worries.” Muscles shift in my shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. “I was distracted too, I guess.” He’s still smiling at me, though now it doesn’t quite seem as apologetic. Instead his expression is more friendly and conversational—which I don’t understand as he’s still a stranger to me.

“Not often we get new faces around here,” he says as he shoves his hands in his pockets. His body leans slightly toward me. My teeth worry over my bottom lip for a second as I debate how to respond.

“Well, you’re a new face to me,” the words blurt our before I can stop myself. He laughs in response, though something seems odd about it. It’s not quite happy or joking, perhaps more sarcastic.

“I suppose I am,” he mutters as his eyes glance toward the street. I just barely hear it as he extracts one of his hands to offer in a handshake. “Jefferson,” he says in introduction.

“Lee,” I respond, lightly clasping his hand in mine for a quick shake. His hand is warm, contrasting with the night air. His palm is not exactly smooth, but neither is it the hand of a hard laborer. I take a moment to glance at his long digits locked around my palm as our hands clasp. His grip is firm, but not painfully so. My feet rock forward from my heels to my toes, as if his grip is subconsciously pulling me forward. “I own Modern Fashions.” I gesture behind me to the general direction of my store, though the building stands around the corner.

“I’ve seen it, but never been in. I’m a little addicted to online shopping, so I never had the need to visit.” He leans slightly more forward as if to tell me something conspiratorially. “But now that I know you own it, I might just stop by.”

A shiver rushes down my spine and a blush covers my cheeks and I realize he’s still got a hold of my hand. I pull it away and take a step back in embarrassment, looking at the ground and running my hand down my scarf. The night’s breeze shifts across my now empty palm as it rests to swing by my side. The coolness highlighting the warmth my body now misses.

“Well,” I squeak. I quickly clear my throat before continuing. “Feel free to stop by anytime we’re open.” I smile shyly at him. His returning smile is dazzling and the blood pumping in my face, strengthening my blush, roars like ocean waves in my ears. “Um, well, it was nice to meet you. Goodnight.” I take another step back so I can find my way around him and toward my apartment again.

“Jefferson,” he responds, prompting me as if I forgot his name—which I most certainly did not.

“Goodnight, Jefferson,” I acquiesce with a small nod and parting smile. The awkward quirk of my hand in a wave ends my participation in the conversation.

“Goodnight, Lee,” he responds. He stays in his spot as I duck my head and maneuver around him to continue on my way. “Glad I bumped into you,” he calls at my retreating form.

I don’t stop, but quickly glance back, biting my lip to keep me from smiling too wide. My feet carry me quickly around the next block. An excited shriek burbles in the back of my throat, rolling around continuously. Shaking my head, I stop a second to compose myself. I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear and finally approach my home.

The ascent of stairs to my apartment passes in a blur of energy and I pull out my keys. Marie greets me at the door with a firm ‘meow’. Apologies spill out of my lips while I lock the door behind me and immediately get her dinner before storing away my coat and purse.

Looking at the clock, I realize it is too late to eat anything too substantial. I grab a small snack and complete my nightly ablutions before falling into a deep sleep.

The next day I wake from my reoccurring dream and commence my day. Other than seeing the woman walking around with Henry about town, nothing interesting differentiates this day from any previous one. I go to work, have lunch with Monty, close shop at 7:30 pm, and find my way home.

The next day brings about an unexpected—but not unpleasant—change.

It’s a Sunday—the one day a week the shop is closed. With such a small town, I don’t have anyone helping out. I run the store on my own and take one day a week for myself. Naturally, I tend to sleep in, but not in this case.

A pounding on my door jolts me from sleep. Marie jumps from my pillow and lands on the floor, stalking toward the stairs. I turn over in bed and attempt to fall back into a dreamless slumber, but the banging continues.

Grumbles rumble in my chest as my body shoves up from my mattress. Throwing on a dressing robe over my sleepwear, I trudge down the stairs and unlock the door.

“What?” I ask tersely as I open my door. Immediately, all agitation leaves my body as I see who stands before me. “Paige?” I ask, shock coursing through me. I’m only hoping my mind is tricking me. “What are you doing here, girly?” Ushering her inside, the door latches behind her, and she takes a seat on a barstool at my kitchen island.

“I wanted to see you, Aulee,” she says with a bright smile. I smile back at her, chuckling a bit at the nickname. Marie jumps up on the counter in front of the young girl and rubs up against the hand Paige uses to pet her.

“Still can’t call me Aunt Lee like a normal niece?” I ask shaking my head in amusement and wiping sleep from my tired eyes. I grab out Marie’s food and feed my cat. She eats contentedly as my niece continues to pet her.

“No,” she chirps happily. “You’re my Aulee!” I nod and turn to start making breakfast for myself, accepting that I won’t be going back to bed this morning. The faucet of my sink fills my kettle before I place it on the stove and turn on the burner. I turn as the kettle starts to heat to take out some frozen homemade waffles, popping them in the toaster. Once everything is started for my meal, I turn back to the young girl.

“Does my sister know you’ve decided to take a field trip to visit me?” I ask, raising my eyebrow and predicting the answer. The young girl shakes her head looking at the counter, guilt written all over her features. I sigh and grab my phone from the charging station on the kitchen counter. The quick text reassures my sister so she won’t worry before turning back to my niece. “How did you get here then?”

“I walked,” she answers simply. She walks over to my fridge and pulls out an apple, handing it to me with the unspoken request that I prepare it for her to eat.

“Across town?” I ask, voice raised an octave. My eyes dart to the time on my phone. “At 8 o’clock in the morning?”

“I didn’t get lost,” she points out. In a daze, my apple spiral-cutter and peeler works to prepare the apple for her. I complete the task and place the apple on a plate, adding a dollop of peanut butter.

I hand it over, still contemplating how to respond when my waffle in the toaster pops up, startling me. The shock prompts me to speak. “Paige, sweetie, you can’t just walk out of your house without telling people where you’re going.” She looks down at her plate as she picks at her fruit.

“I just didn’t want you to be lonely,” she responds quietly, her long blonde hair shrouding her face like a veil. I grab her hand across the island and squeeze it reassuringly. “Mom says you’ve been down lately. I just wanted to help.”

“Paige,” I say softly, tentatively. Her big, brown eyes lift to meet mine. “I am happy to have you over here when I can, but can you think about how your parents would react if they realized you were missing? Or what if something happened to you?” My body maneuvers around the kitchen island to stand next to her, crouching down to be at her eye level as she sits on the stool. “Your parents and I want you to be safe. We would be devastated if something were to happen.”

Paige nods her head, looking on the verge of crying. I pull her into my arms to comfort her. A deep breath fills my lungs as I rock her a bit and she burrows further into the embrace.

“I’m not angry with you, girly. I just want to you be careful and to make sure you have your parents permission to do stuff like this. Okay?” She nods her head and turns back to her apple and peanut butter. Marie bumps up against her hand, breaking some of the dejectedness in Paige’s mood.

I gather my waffles, spread butter, and pour over syrup before my kettle starts shrieking. Hot water pours into my mug submersing the tea packet and expelling steam. I grab another apple out of the fridge to spiral for myself.

The two of us eat our breakfast in a content quietude. My waffles shared between us so we each eat half of what I prepared before cleaning up our dishes when we’re finished.

I turn from the sink and clap my hands enthusiastically. “Alrightie,” I announce. “What do you want to do until your parents insist you go home?”

“Well, Aulee, you should probably get dressed,” Paige suggests with a snicker. “I don’t think you want to walk around town in your pajamas all day.” She smiles and I sigh with faux exasperation.

“Well,” I pretend to concede. “If you insist. I can shower real quick and get ready. Why don’t you help me pick out what to wear today?” I ask as I shoo her upstairs to my loft bedroom.

She giggles as her feet run up the stairs. The whoosh and clack of my wardrobe doors opening echoes and I calmly make my way up the stairs. My niece sorts through evey piece of clothing hanging up and folded in my drawers before picking out an outfit for me to wear—a black and white floral graphic tee, a pair of jeans, and a chunky cardigan. I grab the requisite underclothes, the shirt, and jeans and head to the adjoining bathroom.

“Why don’t you play with Marie for a bit and I’ll be out in a second,” I suggest as my body disappears behind the door to my bathroom. I pop my head out a second longer to remind her, “Don’t make trouble.” A smile spreads across my face as she nods.

My daily routine—rather rushed for the convenience of my niece waiting on me—allows little time for contemplation. Of this, I am grateful, as my dreams keep nagging me in the back of my mind. And I can’t help but feel a creeping emptiness lurking there with them.


	4. The Tower

Clutching a short stack of books in her hands, the enchantress felt her energy drift through the forest in a mist of magic, appearing on the ledge of a window in a tower reaching into the sky.

“You came,” a joyous voice greeted her. The girl, barely surpassing the age of adulthood, smiled brightly at her friend. As she approached the window of her tower and her recently arrived guest, the girl’s hair trailed behind her—one hundred feet of auburn tresses.

The enchantress smiled down at her friend before her. “Yes, and I’ve brought you more books.” The enchantress untied the cloak from around her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. Antoinette stalked out from the fabric and found a place draped in sunlight to rest and observe. Still gripping the spines of her gift in one hand, the woman greeted the girl with a warm hug. “Hello, Rapunzel.”

“What books have you brought me?” Rapunzel asked with curiosity and delight in her eyes as her arms wrapped around the woman. The enchantress calmly handed over the offering to the excited girl. Scanning each book’s title and flipping through a few of the pages, Rapunzel gripped her gifts tightly to her chest. “I shall cherish these.” 

“I know how much you enjoy escaping to far off lands,” The enchantress said tilting her head. “I may not agree with your mother, but I do know that if the body must stay rooted, the imagination may still fly free.” Rapunzel walked away, placing the books on top of a shelf lined with volumes brought to her by her friend. “I just want to make sure you are happy,” she confessed quietly. 

“Your gifts always make me happy,” Rapunzel gushed as she turned back around. “I don’t think I could live without the diversions you bring me.” She walked over and placed her hands firmly on the enchantress’s shoulders. A faint blush rose on the older woman’s cheeks. “I was never more happy than the day you found my tower and decided to investigate what it was. You have brought such wonder to my life, my friend.” Rapunzel’s smile dazzled the woman and the enchantress took a moment to bask in the girl’s sunny countenance. 

The enchantress cleared her throat lightly and clapped her hands together. “Where shall I take you today?” The enchantress raised her hands, ready to cast a spell to create an illusion.

“Surprise me,” the girl responded. “But I want to see water.” With the girl’s demands in mind, the enchantress swept her arms out, creating an illusion in the room of a vast lake in a dense forest. With brows furrowed and pursed lips, Rapunzel observed her surroundings. 

“Is this not to your satisfaction?” The enchantress quickly asked upon seeing the girl’s reaction. “I can change it.” The enchantress raised her hands to create a new illusion, something different—a salty ocean or jungle river. 

“No,” Rapunzel said with a brief shake of her head. “I’ve just seen a lake like this through my window.” A few tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “So close, but I won’t ever visit it.” The enchantress did not respond—at a loss for words. Rapunzel turned away to wander through the trees and along the shore of the lake. 

The enchantress left the girl to explore on her own through the room. Walking toward Antoinette, the woman found a large tree and climbed up to a low, sturdy branch as a perch. With the rays of a fake sun shimmering through the branches of conjured trees, she relaxed—listening for Rapunzel, for Antoinette, for the universe. With a sigh and closed eyes, the enchantress allowed herself to drift off, content with her companions in the room. 

After many hours of allowing Rapunzel exploration in the forest illusion, on the faint whisper from the trees outside the tower, the enchantress sensed the approaching presence of a weak sort of magic. With a flick of her hand, the room’s window appeared in its place. The woman walked over, with only Antoinette raising her head in acknowledgment of the change. With confirmation, the enchantress called over the girl flitting about the lake and picked up her cloak. 

“What is wrong?” Rapunzel asked, searching out the window for some sign of change. The woman tied her cloak around her shoulder and placed her hands on the window ledge.

Leaning over the sill, the enchantress called back her leopard to the safety of her cloak. “Gothel’s coming.” With a twist of nervous hands, the woman dispersed the magic of the illusion. Now standing in Rapunzel’s ordinary room, they both waited for the arrival of Rapunzel’s mother.

“Rapunzel, daughter, let down your hair!” Gothel’s voice called from the bottom of the tower. The enchantress bit her lip before helping Rapunzel throw her tresses through the window. 

Adept at climbing her daughter’s hair, Gothel took little time to reach the window of the tall tower. With a glance at the occupants of the room, her face broke into an angry exasperation. 

“I have told you, witch, to stay away from my daughter,” Gothel sneered at the enchantress. Rapunzel approached her mother to help the older woman enter the room and embrace her in a hug. Gothel’s arms wrapped protectively around her daughter, pulling the girl away from the enchantress. 

“And I have told you, dear, that I can’t let Rapunzel suffer alone in this tower with nothing but you and the sky.” The enchantress placed her hands on her hips, turning slightly away from the two wrapped in a hug. “I care about Rapunzel and I have told you I would not interfere with how you wish to raise her, but she cannot be kept here like a prized bird without something to free her mind.” 

Gothel’s mouth opened to retort.

“Mother, please, don’t,” Rapunzel pleaded. She pulled away from Gothel’s embrace. “Besides you, she is my only friend. She entertains me and brings me gifts.” With a step back, the girl stood between the two women as if acting as a buffer. 

“And what is the cost of her friendship?” Her mother asked. The enchantress scowled at the woman, sending a glare that would frighten most. Rapunzel gaped in surprise at Gothel.

“There is no price,” the enchantress ground out through gritted teeth.

A violent tension wound tightly between the two women. Rapunzel did not break it with another comment. 

Eventually, the enchantress softened her glare to address the girl. “I must be leaving, Rapunzel,” she said. The girl turned to her friend with disappointment. She walked a few steps toward the enchantress to embrace her in a tight hug. 

“Must you leave?” she pleaded. The enchantress returned the embrace and placed a short kiss on the girl’s temple before pulling away. 

“I’m afraid I must attend to my duties.” Glancing up from the girl, the enchantress made sure that Gothel heard her say, “I will be back to visit within the fortnight.” Flipping her hood over her hair, the woman took one last look at Rapunzel with an apologetic smile before vanishing in a magic mist. 

Her energy once more guiding her travel through the forest, the enchantress found the universe calling her to a specific spot. Intrigued by such a heavy pull, she materialized in the spot and looked around.

With a grunt, the enchantress felt a great force knocking into her body, sending her sprawling to the forest floor.


	5. And Monday Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee goes back to work and gets a visitor that leaves her quite befuddled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy a random middle of the week chapter posting from me!

My day with Paige passes by without much time for contemplation or rest. We walk around the town, she accompanies me to the grocery store, we eat lunch at Granny’s, we bake some cookies that I save in the freezer, and I take her home in time for dinner. Of course, I called my sister the moment I got out of the shower to confirm that she got my text and was alright with Paige spending the day with me. And with her confirmation, I allowed myself a day of fun with my niece.

But before I know it, Monday morning arrives and I drag myself out of the warmth and comfort of my bed. The dreams cling around my shoulders, taking my mind to the clouds as I complete my morning routine. Dazed—that is what I am today.

My heart beats sluggish in my chest and my feet drag on the floor as I prepare for the day. Marie bumps into me, offering comfort or perhaps some admonishment for my mood. I feed her and myself before trudging out the door with a heavy head.

With a grey sky overhead, I almost decide to skip Granny’s for my morning coffee, but know they will inquire about my absence the next time I drop in. I would prefer to avoid the questions. The bell jingles over the door, somehow louder and more cheerful than normal—the sound irritates my ears.

I push forward and slump into my usual seat at the bar, pulling out my book and turning to my page. I force a grin as Granny makes small talk while pouring my coffee. As soon as her back is turned, it falls from my face faster than the release of a stretched rubber band. I prepare my coffee and look to my book for a distraction—which it refuses to supply. My eyes stare at the pages, the words blurring into mush and creating a hazy grey blob.

I look up to clear my vision and see a man sitting at the counter reading the newspaper. The large photo for the cover story looks to be the woman I saw with Henry the other night—blonde hair, unfamiliar features—a mugshot from the sheriff’s department. I don’t try to discern the headline. I finish my coffee while staring at the mush of my book with my mind whirring through my dreams before paying and packing everything away.

I arrive early to my store. I unlock and head to the back to store my personal belongings. There are no new orders today to sort, so I am left standing alone in the middle of my racks. My eyes scan the merchandise as I turn in a slow circle. My eyes swell with moisture and I leave it clouding my vision—immense longing fills me—that creeping feeling like something is missing. My stomach aches and my lungs burn. My legs wobble like jelly. I can’t pinpoint the cause, but I feel wrong—off—discontent—unhappy in a way that doesn’t make sense. I have a loving family, a secure job, and everything I need—if not happy, I should at least not feel like _this_. I take a deep breath and try to use the coping mechanisms Archie used to teach me in our sessions. They don’t work.

“Why am I not happy?” I ask into the emptiness as if it might answer me. Bitterness and frustration lance my tone. I huff a tired sigh from my lungs, combing my fingers through my hair.

“Maybe you should try yoga,” a voice says behind me. I jump and spin in my spot, losing my balance for a second. My heart thunders in my chest, the blood rushing through my veins like river rapids. I reach out to grab at a rack and find a warm hand instead. Another reaches out to me to grasp my waist. “Now, why is it that every time we meet, you need me to catch you?” I look up—my face completely red—to see Jefferson standing in my store, clutching me in his arms. His brilliant smile causing fissures in the cloudiness of my pervasive thoughts. “I know the sign still says closed, but I saw you in here and I thought I’d say ‘hi’.”

Though he’s being charming and saying things that would normally bring a smile to my face, I only blush and step away. On a normal day, his presence might have brought sunshine to the drab Maine sky. But not today. Though I still feel a little shaky from his sudden appearance, I clear my throat.

“Hi, then,” I say breaking the silence, surprise still echoing in my voice. I gesture behind me at the clothing. “Feel free to look.” I duck my head and scurry behind the counter, sitting on my stool and burying my nose in my book. The words of my book stare back at me, but there’s something about Jefferson that keeps me on edge and I can’t read. Like spicy food clearing out stuffed sinuses, Jefferson’s presence has left me with a clearer mind, but now I’m buzzing with something—like bees have taken residence under my skin and busily work to keep me from calming down. I continue to blame the shock he gave me by sneaking into my store. My eyes glance in his direction every other minute as he occupies both my thoughts and my store. My knees bounce as I sit and I pick at the dead skin around my nails as I try to keep myself distracted.

And he keeps wandering through the racks—and I can’t calm down. Every time I look up, he’s scrutinizing me. Lines crease around his eyes as he continues to catch my gaze. Each time, my own snaps back to the pages of my book until I hear his quiet steps heading in my direction. I hear the creak of the floorboard on the other side of the counter, right in front of my position, but refuse to look up. My peripheral vision catches his arms coming to rest on the countertop and I trace their shape up to his face—which is now leaning much closer to me than expected.

“Are you alright?” His face is less than a foot away from mine as he leans over my counter. There’s concern etched deeply into his expression as his hands move forward, reaching toward me.

“You hardly know me,” my mouth blurts out before my mind can decide what to say. His brow furrows at my statement as his hands stop their approach toward me and something crystalizes in his eyes. It looks as though I’ve upset him with something I’ve said, but I have no inclination as to what my mistake might be. He turns his eyes away from me and after a moment his face loosens and calms down.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies with a small shrug still glancing off to the side. When he looks back to me, he’s grinning and my heart stutters, flip-flops, somersaults. “Have you ever met someone that just made an impression on you? Couldn’t get them out of your head. Driving you mad. You just have to know them—talk to them—make their grey days turn sunny?” His hand reaches out and grasps mine, his fingers dancing over my skin. My lungs intake a gulp of air and I feel the sting of tears in my eyes. Jefferson doesn’t notice as he glances down at our clasped hands. “I don’t know about your feelings, but there’s something about you I can’t ignore. And I have no intention to try.” A rakish smirk forms on his lips.

I gently pull my hand away from his and tuck it behind the counter. All of the buzzing in my body has now centered on my palm, like it has fallen asleep and my body is trying to jumpstart the circulation again. I clear my throat and use my other hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“I, uh,” I stumble over my words a bit trying to find what I want to say—how I want to say it. “Archie—Dr. Hopper—diagnosed me with anxiety and depression. You can’t cure me—that is, you can’t make all my days sunny.” A self-deprecating smile graces my features. ”I don’t know why you’d want to anyway. We’re practically strangers.”

“Then let me get to know you—you can get to know me. Let me support you, be there for you to fall back on.” He’s definitely determined, I’ll give him that. My eyes drop as I contemplate his offer. And I can’t deny my desire to keep him with me—a draw that overrides all my logical thought processes, even the ones ringing klaxons about how fast this—whatever it is—seems to be developing. Firm fingers lift my chin and he cups my face gently in his palm—as if I were fragile and delicate and oh, so precious. My breathing increases slightly, trying to draw more air into my lungs. My palms sweat and tears sting my eyes. I try to sniff them away. My heart beat thunders in my ears and I can’t help but picture him closing the gap between our lips. “Please.” His eyes beg as much as his words and I feel something deep within crumble in acquiescence.

He studies my features for a few tense minutes. As if reading me like a book, he seems to find his answers and happiness breaks across his face, scrunching the faint lines around his eyes and pulling his lips into a smile. His hands finally drop from my cheeks and I feel I can breathe easier, though my cheeks remain warm—from the residual heat of his touch or my own blush, I can’t guess the source. He pulls out a piece of paper with some scrawled numbers and slides it across the counter to me.

He taps a beat on my counter with his hands as his feet back him away toward the front door—pep in each step he takes, as if his day has been made. My eyes follow his movements closely as he leaves, still gazing at me with a fondness I can’t understand in his eyes.

“I’ll see you around, Lee. Call me for any reason, any time of day.” He’s still smiling as he changes the sign on my door from the closed side to open. I hadn’t even remembered—it was probably the reason we weren’t interrupted. “I—” He cuts himself off, catching what he was about to say and swallowing it down. “I’ll see you,” he repeats as he exits the door and walks away.

As soon as he is out of sight and around the corner from my shop, my entire body deflates and I slump to the floor behind my counter. My lungs seize slightly as I try to draw in enough air to breath. My hands shake and I clutch them around my middle, trying to keep myself together. Tears drip from my eyes as I start counting back from one hundred in my mind to calm myself down, but it doesn’t work. No matter how I try to calm or distract myself, my mind remains laser focused on Jefferson for one simple reason.

His touch felt like home—like my dreams, like what I was missing.

The bell jingles over my door signaling a customer. I stand quickly and reign in my emotion—brushing away tear tracks and burying my feelings deep to examine at another time.

And my day passes as customers come and go, an average day. Monty comes by for lunch as usual and I smile over at him—though with the way my muscles twitch I know for him it looks strained.

“What’s the matter?” he asks. It’s such a simple question and my façade cracks like a dam bursting open.

“I—there’s this—he,” I struggle with the words as I adhere the ‘Be Back Soon’ sign to my door and turn the lock.

Monty waits patiently for me. He leads me to the back and sets the chairs around the folding table. I crumple into one. As he heats our meal in my microwave, I sit with my head leaning on my fist and pick at the plastic of the table where it has been marked.

“Let’s start simpler,” Monty suggests as he places a container of food in front of me. My eyes get distracted by the steam rising from it. “Who is he?”

I breath deep before replying, “His name is Jefferson. I bumped into him on the street the other day walking home from work and he came to my shop today to see me.” I rub my hand over my face, scrubbing away tiredness in my eyes and trying to find clarity. I pick up my fork and look at the food in front of me. “This looks delicious, by the way.”

“It’s just re-heated chicken alfredo lasagna,” Monty says with a bite in his mouth. “Don’t try to change the subject.” I take a small bite and my lip twitches up on one side.

“I wasn’t trying—” I stop as Monty levels his gaze at me. I take another bite and the two of us eat in silence for a moment.

“Why are you so rattled by him?” Monty finally asks. “I’ve never seen someone get under your skin so much. This reaction from you falls outside your norm. Does he make you feel unsafe or give you bad vibes or something?” I shake my head at the question.

“It’s the complete opposite.” I run my hands through my hair and look up with wide, scared eyes to see dawning realization come over my friend’s face. A soft smile spreads over his lips, slow but excited.

“Instant connection?” he asks as he leans forward, his unfinished food forgotten for a moment.

“I’m not sure it was instant, but he just—he makes me feel,” I pause and search for the proper word to express myself. Monty lets me, not trying to rush me or guess for me. “It’s like coming home after a long day away, you know?”

“So he makes you feel safe and comfortable,” Monty fills in for me. I nod.

I know my mind is stuck on my recurring dreams and how that feeling is so similar to what I experienced with Jefferson’s simple touch, but I can’t stop. And I don’t want to.

“Well,” he says scratching his chin and observing me as I take another bite of lunch. “It’s about time you found someone like that. I think you should go for it.” With another shrug, he once again begins to devour his meal.

I nearly choke on the bite in my mouth, coughing and sputtering, “Go for it!?”

“Course, I mean if you find your safe haven, you’ve got to hold onto it. Seems like Jefferson could be good for you, if for no other reason than the fact that he might snog your brains out.” Monty smirks at me as my cheeks blush redder than the beets he sells at the store. He chuckles at me. “Trust me, Lee, you overthink and you look into the abyss, but never jump in.” His eyes are serious as he grabs one of my hands in his. “I know you’re scared, but if there were any time to jump in and go for it, it would be now.” He smirks once again. “I mean, handsome new stranger who seems super interested and you fancy him? Seems like the right one to me. Just grab ten seconds of bravery and leap.”

“I never said he was handsome,” I protest weakly.

“Your cheeks did,” he says and playfully sticks his tongue out at me. I return the sentiment easily. “Plus, if you don’t jump in, I’ll push you, figuratively speaking of course.” My mouth gapes open at his statement. He uses his fork to gesture at me. “Remember, I only have your best interest in mind.”

I nod and pick at the remaining food in the container before me. Monty gestures to it as if to say ‘eat up’ before diverging onto other topics such as the market and his plans for the rest of the week, as well as some of the gossip about town that he’s heard. I only vaguely pay attention to what he says as we finish our lunches. My mind drifting off in different directions as I try to stay focused on my friend.

When we finish, Monty kisses my head and walks off, leaving me alone in my store. There aren’t many customers for the rest of the day—only a handful of Storybrooke’s residents coming to peruse the clothes. The hours pass quietly as I watch the ticking clock. I don’t read my book, knowing it won’t provide the distraction I need. At least my body has decided that I can be calm now. There’s no more buzzing or blushing, just nothing for a moment—even my cloudy daze from the morning stays away. I enjoy it while it lasts.

When the clock chimes at 7:30, I gather my belongings—including the scrap of paper Jefferson gave me—and lock up. My walk home is pleasant—cool, but not unbearably cold. Still I wrap my jacket tight around me as my feet take my well-worn path home. My eyes continually scan around me, looking at the people who pass me by. I stay in a mindset of firm denial that I’m actually looking for a specific someone. But there are no particular faces in those I pass. And I can’t deny I’m a little disappointed.

Marie greets me at the door as I walk into my loft, seeming pleased that I arrive at the usual time. I disrobe from my boots and my coat, feeling the crinkle of paper in my pocket. The scrap from Jefferson wrinkles in my fingers as I stare at it for a moment. Clutching it in my hand, I feed my cat and grab dinner for myself. My nose scrunches as I eat, still staring at the phone number scrawled on a bit of paper—torn, it seems, from some book. From the words I can decipher, I can’t discern from what book it was torn. So instead, I focus on the numbers—as if they might disappear somehow.

There’s nothing particular about them, just a regular phone number. At the same time, this number is special—holding it in my hand makes me _feel_ special.

I leave the paper on the counter as I wash up the dishes—pretending I’m not increasingly tempted to call, that I’m not drawn to it. I dry my hands on a towel and hang it back up before walking over to my cell phone’s charging station and pulling my phone from my pocket. Intending to charge it for the night, my plans go awry as before I can even process what my hands are doing I have the number in my hand and I’m dialing the phone number.

“Hello?” Hearing his voice over the line jolts me from the trance that overtook me as I dialed. He pauses, but I don’t respond to him. My mouth continually opens and closes as I search for words, for a reason that I called. “Lee?”

“Yeah,” I whisper into my phone. My hand comes up to rest against my forehead as I close my eyes.

“You called,” he says. I can hear the smile in his voice. I can’t imagine what he looks like at this moment or where he is, but I can imagine his smile. I see it clearly in my mind—soft and genuine. “Is everything alright?” Though I can tell he is pleased by my call, the hint of concern is still strong in his tone.

“Yeah.” My voice doesn’t raise in volume and I realize the silliness of calling him with no reason to. I bite my lip and feel myself inwardly cringe. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. This is silly. I don’t even know—”

“Hey,” he interrupts me with a small chuckle—easy and comforting. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad you called.”

“But I would feel awful if I interrupted something,” I insist as my face scrunches and I search for words. Movement echoes over the line, some clattering and rustling.

“I was just working and, really, you’re a welcome distraction.” With his words, a blush paints over my cheeks. My feet begin pacing over the floor as I try to think of how to continue the conversation. Jefferson seems like he wants to talk and I am willing to oblige—for at least a little longer.

“What is your work?” I ask, realizing I’ve never asked and have no idea. My mind starts whirring with all of the information I don’t know about him—how we just met a few days ago, but it seems like it’s been much longer. My brow furrows. I walk over to my couch and take a seat, pulling a blanket over my lap.

“It’s more of a hobby than work,” he starts. “But I make hats.” More rustling fills the background and the faint thud of his footsteps as he walks.

“Hats?” I mutter, not quite a question. I hum in contemplation at the thought. The mild roughness of his hands could plausibly be from years of crafting. “I guess I could picture it.” He chuckles over the line. “What were you making before I called?”

“Just a top hat,” he says in a clipped response. He doesn’t sound as bright when he says it. I wonder what changed to cause his tone to drop. Both of us sit in a beat of silence before he speaks up again. “Can I see you this week? We can hang out, go for a walk, maybe get a bite to eat?”

My teeth bite into my bottom lip contemplating his offer. I want to immediately say yes, but something—probably anxiety—holds me back and catches my tongue with my immediate knee-jerk response. Butterflies flounce around in my stomach as I debate internally how to respond. A large part of me wants to go with my gut and just say yes, but the other dreads it. Staring into the abyss of what ifs.

My conversation with Monty over lunch comes to mind. Ten seconds of bravery, that’s all I need—take the plunge, take a chance. My lungs expand with a deep breath. My eyes scrunch closed—unwilling to face my decision.

“Sure,” I reply my voice so quiet, I don’t know if it carries over the phone. I pull the blanket around my feet closer to my chin, attempting to hide in it. My skin starts buzzing with anxiety as each millisecond seems to stretch for years. For a moment, there’s silence and I wish for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

Then Jefferson speaks and the nerves stop buzzing. “Fantastic. When?” I swallow back a groan of consternation.

“Maybe I can close up the shop early on Saturday?” I venture, trying to keep in mind anything I have to get done during the week.

“Saturday’s perfect. I’ll be there.” There is no doubt that he’s wearing a smile on his end of the line. I bite my lip once more and nod—almost a little proud of myself. “I’ll let you get to sleep, though. It’s getting late and you have to open your shop tomorrow.”

A small smile curls on my lips as I glance at a nearby clock. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll see you Saturday, Jefferson.”

“Wild wolves won’t be able to keep me away,” he responds with a chuckle. I giggle a little with him and press my free hand to my face—giddy with the surge of emotions coursing through me. “You’re adorable,” He mutters to himself. My laughter dies and I contemplate a response. He beats me to one. “Goodnight, Lee. Sweet dreams.” His affectionate tone causes warmth to bubble up in the pit of my stomach, which travels through my bloodstream from my head to my toes.

“Goodnight, Jefferson. I’ll see you Saturday,” I reply, a bit breathless. I pull the phone away from my ear and press ‘end call’ with shaking fingers. My previous nerves, anxiety, and shyness leech away, leaving me staring at my phone in glee. My body hums with happy jitters. My lips crack in a jovial grin as I sit alone.

A smile stays plastered on my lips all night long—as I get ready for bed, as I lay waiting for sleep. And I find I wake with a smile still on my face.


	6. New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who bumped into the enchantress?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray, another chapter because my work was cancelled today. Also I decided my ‘schedule’ for posting this is whenever I have a chapter finally revised and I want to, so yeah. Enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Leave a comment, kudos, or subscribe if you’re liking the story so far.

The enchantress spat out the dirt from her mouth, pushing up on her hands to attempt to stand up.

“I’m so sorry,” A voice said from above as a hand reached down to offer assistance. The enchantress eyed it warily before ignoring it to stand on her own. Her step only faltered slightly as she stood upright. “I didn’t see you. It’s like you appeared out of nowhere.”

Eyes glancing up, the enchantress saw a kind smile and tired eyes set within a handsome face. He retracted his hand as he watched her brush dirt and twigs from her skirts.

“A simple mistake—an accident,” she replied avoiding looking at the man. His clear, bright eyes observed her. The enchantress felt exposed under his gaze, not being stared at so intensely before—not in this form at least, without a disguise to protect her. Rapunzel never looked at her like this. She shuffled her feet briefly and contemplated calling out Antoinette for protection but thought better of it.

“Let me at least apologize for the accident with some hospitality,” he insisted. He’s earnest in his approach of her and the enchantress could read the sincerity of his intentions in his stance. The normal suspicion that sat in her bones evaporated in his presence.

The enchantress contemplated how she should reject his offer—despite his comforting, stable energy. Her head tilted to the side, listening for the input of the universe. Her brow furrowed. The magic crackled under her skin, but didn’t call to be used. The voice she usually heard whisper guidance—where to go, how to react—remained silent, a clear signal that fate was unfolding according to plan with her in her proper place. She was exactly where she was destined to be, which confused her. The enchantress pursed her lips. Her eyes scanning the horizon around her, the trees of the forest obscured any distant line of sight.

“Papa,” another voice cried in their proximity. The man spun and crouched down, a smile lighting up his face as a little girl barreled into his waiting arms. She was small and spritely, with her hood pulled over her head. “I found you!” She cried as she giggled and clung to her father.

The enchantress watched with curiosity. Why had fate directed her to witness this moment? She could sense the girl’s purity of heart just by standing at a friendly distance—less tainted than her father, but just as comforting. One who would walk away with a blessing should their paths ever cross under different circumstances.

“Papa, who is this?” The girl asked as she turned in her father’s arms. The man, crouched low to his daughter’s height, stood straight again. He scratched the back of his neck in nervousness as he decided what to tell his daughter.

“Well, Grace,” he started still rubbing the back of his neck. “I accidentally—”

The enchantress didn’t hear the rest of his explanation. A crackling on the breeze, a tension in the air, caught her attention. Her magic sizzled at her fingertips. It took a second for her to realize that this moment was the reason she was brought to this spot by the universe—though she didn’t yet understand the implication of it.

She felt the whoosh of a projectile flying in the air—coming toward her and, by proximity, the father and daughter. She twirled on her heel, eyes locked on the arrow as it flew directed at the little girl’s head. She sensed and reacted. One step—unconsciously taken, almost like instinct—from her spot and the arrow burrowed deep into her abdomen—sliding easily beneath her ribs and stopping before reaching the innocent little girl.

The enchantress clutched her side around the arrow in pain, the sensation close to overwhelming. She snapped the tail away from the arrow examining it closely. The feathers, bright and colorful, were indistinct and common. Her face scrunched in pain as her knees weakened. It had been a long time since she had felt this extent of pain. Her breath drawn into her lungs deep and shuddering. Whipping her cloak back and releasing Antoinette, the leopard jumped out snarling and growling.

“Find the owner of this and discern their intentions—accident or deliberate,” she commanded, dropping the broken arrow at Antoinette’s feet. The large cat sniffed it and grabbed it into her mouth before shooting off into the forest.

“Gods,” the man exclaimed finally overcoming his shock to speak. “We have to get you to a healer.” He approached from the side outstretching his hand to cradle the enchantress’s body. She finally relented, abandoning her outward show of calm strength, and slumped into his arms from the pain. “Come with us and you will be taken care of.”

“Papa,” the little girl whimpered. The enchantress looked over at the tears gathering in the girl’s eyes. She reached out a gentle hand to the girl and forced a serene smile, wiping away the tears.

“Come, Grace,” her father responded. “We must get home. Run ahead and alert Brunhilde.” He gestured off in the direction of their home and the girl bolted off at his command.

“Your daughter is strong and true,” the enchantress grunted between pain clenched teeth. “I thank you for your assistance, but if you leave me I will heal on my own.”

The man didn’t respond and instead reached down to sweep the woman’s legs from under her. Cradling the enchantress in his arms, he carried her as if she weighed no more than a feather. Though there were bumps along the way which stole grunts and groans of pain from the enchantress’s lips, the man carried on while showing little exertion. She grasped his neck with one arm as the other pressed a firm hand to her side to stem the flow of blood around the arrow. It dribbled over her fingers, coating them crimson. The enchantress grit her teeth and called out to the universe through her magic for its help in healing, but received no response.

“Almost there,” the man soothed as a small cottage came into view through the trees.

“I—” the enchantress didn’t complete her thought as a wave of dizziness washed over her vision. Frustration built in her gut. She hadn’t been this weak since mortality was taken from her. “Why am I not healing?” she mumbled to herself, becoming too tired to filter her thoughts as she would. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes—of pain, of frustration, of long forgotten sadness.

The man hushed her, attempting to soothe her fears as he would for his daughter. “I have you,” he cooed as if she were a hurt rabbit found wounded in the forest.

His daughter stood in the entrance of their cottage, an older woman behind her grasping onto her shoulders. As the man approached with the enchantress in his arms, the little girl’s eyes widened at the sight of the blood.

“She did not remove the arrow, in that she has shown intelligence,” the older woman, Brunhilde the healer, said with a hint of relief in her tone. “All the better so that she did not bleed out before I saw to her.” The healer shooed Grace away from the door and gestured to a bed nestled under a window. “Place her there and I will attend to her.”

The man maneuvered in his house directly to the bed, placing the woman in his arms gently down. With a delicate touch, he brushed a wayward hair from her forehead. The enchantress startled slightly from his touch, but met his worried eyes and saw his lips pursed with concern.

Grace hesitantly approached, grasping the enchantress’s hands and laying her head on the woman’s legs. Both father and daughter looked at her with wonder and something deep like sadness within their gazes that the enchantress could not interpret.

“Let me do my work,” Brunhilde interrupted the moment, pushing them all to the side and away from the bed. The enchantress felt the crackle of magic from under the healer’s skin and relief washed over her. “This woman has much pain to feel, and I must start now.” The healer turned to the man lowering her voice. “I have seen wounds like this before and she will be fine, but you must let me do my work. Take your daughter and walk in the forest. I need to remove the arrow. This woman will likely faint. And your daughter need not see any of it.” The older woman gently, but firmly pushed the man from the house, turning back to the enchantress with a kind smile. “Forgive me the pain and you will heal quite nicely.”

The enchantress nodded quickly with a stony face before Brunhilde gathered a bottle and a chunk of leather. The leather went between the enchantress’s teeth as she bit down. The bottle sat open to clean the wound once the arrow was removed. The enchantress smelled the herbs inside and sensed the magic flowing from the older woman to her potion. The healer examined the wound again. Cursing silently under her breath, the older woman gave an apologetic smile while grasping the arrow.

The enchantress ground her teeth into the leather and gave the healer a brusque nod. Brunhilde pulled out the arrow and immediately set to work with her healing potion and spells. The enchantress’s vision narrowed to the point of the arrow as it was drawn from her flesh, sticky and coated crimson with iridescent blood. Her eyes fluttered shut as unconsciousness grasped her.


	7. Take Me Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday finally arrives.

The days pass by through the week with much more excitement than I originally anticipate. With the collapse of the mine, the missing John Doe from the hospital, and the untimely passing of Sheriff Graham, the whole town feels topsy turvy in the result of the events. Never in my life has the sleepy little town of Storybrooke been so lively with town gossip following each incident. My town does not feel like it once used to. The streets are alive with a buzz—almost like anticipation.

But I spend my week in the shop, as I always do, staying away from the excitement of the town and focusing on my own. A couple days are not so pleasant in that particular way that makes my head fuzzy and each task feel unimportant and like a Herculean trial. Monty continues to bring me lunch and we chat—he’s the one who keeps me updated on the town gossip and I tell him about my Saturday plans which somehow excite him more than everything else that’s going on.

And the days roll by until I’m waking up on Saturday an hour earlier than my alarm and unable to fall back asleep. My body hums and my legs twitch even as I lay in bed. My morning routine passes quickly with my eyes constantly glancing to my clock or my phone or really anything that tells time. I only stop for a moment as I stare at my closet in my dressing robe and debate what to wear. Jefferson never specified what we would exactly be doing, so it isn’t like I have a firm idea of what our date will be.

And my mind halts with that thought.

Then it starts buzzing again, but with a distinctly different tinge to the thoughts—more anxious overthinking than buzzing with excited anticipation. He never said this was a date. Maybe I was misinterpreting his intentions—I’ve done it before. Maybe he just wants to be friends, but the way he looks at me and touches me—as if I’m something to cherish. Maybe that was me blowing things out of proportion. He could just be a friendly, touchy-feely person. Maybe he felt bad, pitying my loneliness and depression. He seemed so romantic. Maybe it was morbid curiosity on his part.

I only realize I’ve been pacing in front of my bedroom window for a good while when my unconscious steps are halted by the ringing of my phone. My body jolts as I hear the first notes. I reach out and grab it from my bedside table. Jefferson’s name blinks up at me as my phone vibrates.

“Hello?” I greet over the phone, tilting my head as I wonder why he is calling at this hour.

“Good morning, Lee,” he replies, his tone bright and cheerful—much too energetic for the morning hours. “I just wanted to call you about our plans today.”

I nod to myself, understanding immediately—I knew it must be too good to be true. “Oh, yeah don’t worry about it, Jefferson. I’m sure another time—” My hand presses gently to my crinkled forehead and rubs at my brow.

“Whoa,” he interrupts sounding confused. “I’m not cancelling. Did you think I’m calling to cancel our date?” I remain quiet making no response—stunned silent. Relief washes over me as a few of my questions find their answer. But then more start generating in the silence as it stretches and neither Jefferson nor I talk. Why me? Why was he calling? What are we doing? Do I deserve someone like him? What if that feeling of home was just a fluke? “Lee, I can hear you thinking. Please tell me you still want to see me.” I can hear the genuine worry in his tone, the pleading and slight desperation I don’t understand. He thinks I want to reject him? I shake my head to clear out my brain and try to focus on the moment and our conversation.

“Of course,” I insist, so quietly I may have whispered it. “I thought you would have changed your mind.” I sink down and sit criss-cross on my bedroom floor. My shoulders slump admitting to it.

When he responds, I expect anger or irritation. Instead I hear surprise in his utterance of “Oh.” I pick at the tie of my robe and try to distract my mind from reading too much into that simple exclamation. “Then let me put your worries to rest,” he starts again. There’s a firm, but not harsh edge to his tone that catches my attention. “Since the moment I met you, I have done nothing but want to spend time with you.”

“Oh,” I reply with my mind blue-screening and scrambling to find something to say. “That’s…nice.” My eyes drift up to my closet as I try to gather my wits. With Jefferson once again chuckling in the background, I find the strength to stand back up and pull out a pair of jeans, a plain t-shirt, a chunky cardigan, and a cozy scarf. I clutch the fabric to my body with one arm like a security blanket.

“Is one o’clock a good time for you to close up the store?” he asks after a minute or two.

I nod absentmindedly before realizing we’re speaking over the phone and squeak out a rushed, “yes!”

“Wonderful. Then I’ll see you at one, right on the dot.” His smile is back laced in his voice. “I’ll be there, no matter what.” I laugh at that, bright and relieved. He gives a quick chuckle himself, though he keeps it short and listens to me laugh probably far longer than I should. “Trust me,” he adds on—almost imploringly, at least to my ears. The phrase sounds like it’s own statement—but also rather tacked on to his previous one. Confusion clouds me for a moment, trying to decipher his meaning.

Still, I find myself responding, “Of course.” My response hangs in the air for a moment before I jump in to speak again. “I have to go or I’ll be late opening my store. I’ll see you this afternoon, Jefferson.”

“I’ll be there, Lee,” he reassures me once again before we say our goodbyes and hang up the phone.

I drop my phone on my bed and retreat to my bathroom to change and finish getting ready for the day. I feed Marie quickly and glance at the clock. Later than I expected, I rush out my door, throwing on my shoes, grabbing a coat and granola bar. My feet speed down the street directly to my store and bypassing Granny’s—there’s no time for coffee.

I unlock my storefront and chuck my things in the back before posting my new Saturday hours for the day and flipping the open sign. And it takes a half hour for anyone to meander into the shop. The rest of the morning goes just as slowly. But the slowness of the day means that I get to restock, inventory, and order for the next month without much interruption.

Staring at my store in wonder, I realize that today is going well. Aside from a mind-melting anxiety-induced overthinking episode this morning, everything has been going my way. I completed my orders, I didn’t have any overbearing customers to take care of, and just giving myself a second to breathe felt good. My routine was thwarted this morning, but standing behind my counter, it seems like today will turn out quite alright.

Peace and calm flow through my veins—until I decide to look at the clock. The minutes tick by as it approaches one o’clock. My palms start to sweat. I bury my face in my cozy scarf and take deep breaths which help for a minute.

To distract myself, I gather my things from the back of the shop to ensure I leave nothing behind. I check my hair and outfit again. I play with the ring sitting on my finger. I close my eyes and try to breathe deeply for a few minutes to stop the excited nausea churning in my guts.

The bell over my door chimes. I glance up. Jefferson stands there looking tall, dark, and extremely handsome. My heart gives a flutter and I swallow drily. I look over at my clock—he’s ten minutes early.

“Told you I would be here,” he says running a hand through his hair. He steps closer to the counter. He stares down at me, delight showing clearly in his eyes as I blush and struggle to come up with anything to say in reply.

The bell jingles again as a customer enters my store. I quietly excise myself from Jefferson and walk over to greet and assist the patron. Jefferson’s eyes burn into my back as I help the woman find a skirt that fits her. We make stilted small talk as I ring up her purchase and she leaves with a small smile.

Jefferson follows her to the door, flipping the open sign to the closed side with a devilish smirk.

“Now, time for us.” He saunters back to the counter and places his palms down to lean forward. “Why is it you always seem to retreat behind here when I come by?” His hand reaches out and fingers the scarf around my neck. Jefferson doesn’t say anything as he does, but he watches my face.

My cheeks burn. I try to think of a way to respond, but the words catch in my throat. I turn my gaze away from his, biting my lip in embarrassment. Maybe this was a mistake—he’s right, I can hardly look at him, much less spend time alone with him. My mind screams at me wanting to run away, but also clinging to his quasi-touch.

His hand retreats from its place in the fabric around my neck. My eyes follow its movement. I take a deep breath to finally say something. Once again, his actions cut off all rational thought as his fingers tilt my chin up so I stare right into his eyes.

“Crystal.” The word slips past my lips as I stare into the irises of his eyes. It’s the most disarming color, or maybe it’s just him. I clear my throat and feel my face heat up impossibly more. My left foot takes a step back, but I don’t want to pull my face away from his touch. My hands fidget together, playing with my fingers. “I mean, I’m really happy to see you, Jefferson,” I say with only a small hitch as his name passes through my lips. I lick away their dryness and smile up at him.

A soft smile spreads across his mouth, sweet like caramel. His fingers remove themselves from my chin and he takes a step back. Instead, his hand presents itself for me to grab. His other grabs my jacket from the counter as I gather my purse. I walk around the counter and Jefferson helps me don my jacket before I grasp his hand again. He leads me out of my shop and I lock the door behind me.

“So,” he says with that sugar sweet smile, “Have you eaten lunch yet?” I shake my head—Monty was so over the moon about my date he refused to make me lunch, but promised cream puffs on Sunday instead—as long as I was willing to share. “Good. I kinda planned on that.” His free hand runs up the back of his neck in nervousness.

“Good plan,” I say with a firm nod of my head and a smile. His eyes glance down to my feet for a minute. My brow furrows in confusion as I notice his glance. I tilt my head as I look up at him, waiting for an explanation.

“I set up a picnic out in the woods,” he explains as he leads me down the street. “Just wanted to make sure you’re wearing appropriate footwear. No twisted ankles on my watch.” I smile at his concern and glance down at my shoes myself—mostly to check to make sure I was wearing good shoes, but also to hide my giddy smile from his eyes. We pass by other residents of the town as we walk, their gazes mildly curious if they notice us pass.

My mind runs at fifty miles a minute—wondering if my hand is sweating, if my perfume still smells nice, if he can hear my pounding heartbeat, if he can hear the squeak of my shoes as we walk, if my hair has started to fall out of the braid I plaited it in this morning. But Jefferson squeezes my hand and it’s like the storm has passed. My thoughts focus on where the warmth of his hand encases mine.

We come to a path leading into the woods and he continues to lead me. The sounds of the town quiet down, lost in the thickness of the trees until there is a peaceful silence filled with the ambience of the forest. I listen as we walk, feeling completely at ease. Jefferson looks back at me and smiles. My head floats in a fantasy walking in the forest with him—as though my reoccurring dream has manifested itself in reality.

Eventually, Jefferson stops walking along the path and leads us into the trees and toward a clearing where a thick plaid blanket lays on the ground, weighed down by large rocks. Atop sits a basket filled to almost overflowing with food and drinks. My stomach rumbles loudly, aching to be filled with food. Jefferson leads me over to the blanket and helps me sit down comfortably, then starts unpacking the basket.

Jefferson starts handing me a plate with a few finger sandwiches, some salad, and some fruit. “I’m no master chef, but—”

“It looks delicious,” I interrupt, cutting off his self-deprecating train of thought. I stare at the food on my plate and smile. My eyes drift around the clearing, across the blanket and back to the picnic basket. “You put so much effort into this,” I mutter in awe.

“You’re worth it,” Jefferson insists. He reaches over and squeezes my hand before gesturing for me to dig in. I stare at the food for a minute before starting with the salad. I pick at the food—taking a bite of the sandwiches and humming in enjoyment. Jefferson smiles over at me. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“That’s sort of a broad topic.” I reach up to tuck a stray hair behind my ear as I think of what to say. He shrugs in response, but continues to wait for my answer. I think for a moment about where to start. The forest hums it’s natural rhythm, spreading calm through me. “I guess I can start with my family?” He nods. “First and foremost is my cat, Marie. She’s my little teddy bear.” I take a deep breath. “As for human relatives, my parents have passed, but I have one sister. She lives with her husband and daughter across town.” A smile crosses my lips. “I just spent the day with Paige, my niece, last weekend.”

“It sounds like the two of you are close,” Jefferson comments.

“Like she’s my own,” I reply with a fond smile. “My sister and I never really formed a close bond, but Paige is my little angel. What about you?”

Jefferson shifts in his seat, moving his legs and readjusting where his plate rests on his knee. He pulls his scarf around his neck, slightly loosening it. “I’m all alone—no family, few friends.”

I blink slowly as his statement hangs in the air between us. My eyebrows tilt up as I look into his eyes. There’s a sadness lurking deep in them—it prompts me to speak. “Not anymore.” I reach out, hesitating before I grasp his hand. “Not anymore,” I repeat boldly looking into his eyes. “Not with me.”

His hand squeezes mine back and his eyes glaze over with unshed tears. He pulls me forward by our connected hands and buries his face into the scarf around my neck. His arms encase me and the world around us melts away. My mind begins to analyze the feeling of his body against mine—his arms are firm, as is his body, but there is a squishy softness to him which is wonderfully pleasant.

I relax into his grip as he clings to me. My own face, buried into his chest as my legs splay out behind me at an awkward angle. I don’t feel any discomfort, though it does register in my mind that I probably should based on my contorted position. A strong hand traces my spine and buries itself in the hair at the base of my neck.

Jefferson guides my face away from his chest and stares into my eyes for a moment. His tears have dried, but there is a sadness like regret lurking in his irises. His other hand cups my cheek delicately as if I would shatter should his grip become too firm. Using his strength, he guides my head forward and presses a kiss to my forehead.

My eyes flutter shut at the press of his lips. My mouth opens on a small gasp and my breathing stutters. He guides my head again and presses a kiss to each of my cheeks, drifting closer to my lips. His breath blows over my face as his guides my head again, but stops.

“Please,” he says with a hungry desperation. “Please may I kiss you?” He speaks as if he’s been parched in a desert for too long, and I am the water for which he thirsts. There’s a firm, husky gravel to his voice as he keeps my head where he wants it.

I reluctantly open my eyes and am frozen in his gaze. My breath, still struggling in and out of my lungs, becomes slightly more rapid. My tongues darts out to lick my lips. His eyes follow the action. The air hangs heavy between us as I struggle to form the syllable I so desperately want to.

“Yes,” I murmur so quietly in the silent forest. I barely hear myself as the word floats on a cool breeze blowing through the trees.

His face approaches, his eyes locked firmly on my lips before I close my own in an attempt to calm myself. His mouth presses to mine—full of promise and determination. The kiss is chaste and sweet, stealing my breath away at the paradox of its innocence and passion.

He pulls away and I find my body leaning forward slightly to chase his lips with my own. With his hand on my face and in my hair, I don’t get far. I hear his chuckle, breathy and elated. My eyes open and I lean slightly away, my blush rising quick on my cheeks. His hands release me as one brushes stray hair behind my ear. His eyes seem to search mine for a reaction. I smile shyly over at him. A brief flash of something distraught overcomes his countenance, but flits away in an instant as if it never existed in the first place.

I look down to my plate of food, still covered with salad and sandwiches to be eaten. My fingers pick at the bread for a moment, contemplating what to say next. Two fingers reach out and tilt my chin up.

Jefferson is smiling at me, brilliant as the sun reflecting off water. “Tell me more about yourself,” he suggests as if reading my uncertain mind. “I want to know your favorite color, favorite book and movie, how many bones you’ve broken. Tell me about anything, I just want to hear you talk.”

I blush crimson, but nod my head and begin speaking. By the time our food is finished, I have relayed every detail of my life that I can think of at the moment—every anecdote and fact that immediately pops to mind when he asks a question or encourages me to continue.

Jefferson seems pleased by everything I tell him, laughing good-naturedly at my stories and seems to be surprised by some of my revelations. When I can think of nothing more, I take a deep breath and ask him if he wants to come back to my place to watch a movie.

“Just to watch a movie,” I reiterate when his eyes widen a fraction. I realize I’ve caught him off guard with my bold suggestion, but the sky looks like it might rain—as is the constant state of the Maine sky during stormy season—and I’m not done soaking in the pleasure of Jefferson’s company. He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck before agreeing to my proposition.

I help Jefferson pack away the picnic, wrapping up leftovers and folding the blanket up. We walk back through the trees and down the forest path back to the main roads of the town holding hands.

“I’ve told you all that pops to mind about myself, but I still don’t know much about you,” I say on our walk back, swinging our hands between us and reveling in the feeling of his fingers entwined with mine. The picnic blanket sits draped over my other arm, disguising my fist clenching and unclenching in nervousness.

“You know I make hats and that I keep to myself,” he replies. I kick a twig out of my path as we walk along.

“I also know that you’re addicted to online shopping and have a romantic streak.” My statement causes a smile to spread across his lips. “But I want to know your favorite color, you favorite book and movie, how many bones you’ve broken,” I say throwing his own words back at him. “Turnabout is fair play.”

Jefferson stops walking and laughs with his head tilted back. I stop walking a step or two away, only realizing that he isn’t following me when my hand slips from his grip. I turn back to him and take a step back in his direction. His free arm reaches out as he slings it around my waist and pulls me closer. His embrace is warm and comforting as I tuck my head down to look at his chest.

“Lee,” he murmurs, his grip tightening slightly to gain my attention. “You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” My mouth opens and closes trying to formulate a response, but nothing comes to mind. His face leans down, his nose brushing my cheek as his breath brushes over my ear. “I’m coming to quite adore that.” I worry my bottom lip between my teeth as my stomach flip-flops. My hand finds pilling on the blanket and I start picking at them before his warm lips alight on my forehead. “I thought someone mentioned a movie.”

I nod and grab his hand in mine once more, interlacing our fingers as I pull him along. We pass by my store and Granny’s Diner before we reach my apartment building. I notice one of my neighbors getting their mail—the older woman who always greets me in the morning—smiling and nodding at me as if in approval as I lead Jefferson through the entryway of the building. I huff a quiet groan of annoyance—knowing that now I will have to answer to questions from people with whom I barely associate.

“You live in a nice building,” Jefferson comments as we reach my floor and I draw my hand away to find my keys in my purse.

“Mr. Gold really keeps the building looking nice for his residents,” I absently comment as I come to stand in front of my door. “He’s a good landlord, I suppose. I’ve never had a complaint about it before.” I turn to my door and my fingers decide it is time to fumble nervously with my keys. After finally getting them in the lock, I turn the knob, but stop when someone calls out to me from behind.

“Lee, you’re home!” The chipper voice calls from the doorway across the hall from me. “I was just wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner—” My neighbor, Kristen, stands in her doorway, hand grasping her front doorknob. She stops as she sees I have company—her eager smile faltering. She shifts on her feet.

“Hi, Kristen,” I greet turning to her. “Thanks for the offer, but Jefferson and I were just going to watch a movie.” Kristen’s eyes glance from me to my company as I gesture to him. When my eyes land on him, he seems frozen in his spot. I turn back to Kristen who’s face slightly contorts in an unreadable expression. She shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts, her auburn hair swishing around her ears.

“Maybe some other time?” she asks with hope coloring her tone. She tucks a hair behind her ear and looks at me imploringly. She bites her lips and leans against her doorway.

“Some other time,” I reply with a nod as I push open my door and pull at Jefferson’s arm, signaling him to enter into my apartment. He takes a moment before his feet move and he enters, his eyes still locked on my neighbor.

I wave and send a small smile in Kristen’s direction—which she barely returns—before following Jefferson into my home, where I see him crouched down and petting Marie, cooing sweet words to her. My smile grows on my face as I see Marie bumping up to and scenting the crouched man.

“She likes you,” I comment as I hang up my coat and take off my scarf. My eyes scan around my apartment, making sure it’s tidy enough for company. I notice in my peripheral vision that Jefferson’s eyes lock onto me as I step up next to him. “Marie doesn’t usually warm up to people so quickly. She’s usually more aloof.” I look down at my cat with mild accusation. She continues to rub up against Jefferson’s legs as he straightens up to stand next to me.

“She seems very friendly,” Jefferson comments with a smile. I huff and offer to take his coat, hanging it one a hook by the door. We stand in my entryway, neither of us moving further into the apartment.

“Yeah, well, Kristen my neighbor comes over for dinner all the time and, when we started to hang out, she didn’t realize I had a cat for nine months.” I lean down to scratch Marie’s cheek. I glance up to Jefferson, seeing a proud smirk on his lips. My mind scrambles for a bit, stunned by his face. I gesture to the couch placed in front of the television. “Make yourself at home. My movies are in the cabinet below the television if you wanna pick one.”

Jefferson saunters over following my directions with easy confidence as I stand up and scurry into my kitchen. With some space—though no actual walls to separate us—I take a moment to try to calm my rapidly beating heart. Certain that Jefferson can hear the stampede of stallions that is the tattoo of my heartbeat, I grasp my countertop and take deep breaths.

“Can,” My voice cracks over the word. I clear my throat and start again. “Can I get you anything? I was gonna make some popcorn. I have tea, coffee, water, juice, maybe some soda?” My hand comes up to rub nervously at my forehead as I strain to hear his reply while grabbing out the bag of microwave popcorn from one of the cabinets.

“Water sounds great.” His voice startles me as I turn quickly to see him leaning on my countertop. He holds a DVD case in his hand and I try to peek at it, though his long fingers cover the title from my view.

“You scared the crap outta me,” I chastise turning to grab two glasses from the cupboard and fill both with the filtered water from my fridge. His hands come to rest on my shoulders. I feel more than hear his deep chuckle as he reaches over my shoulder to grab his water and the package of popcorn to throw in my microwave.

“Well, then I just gotta be extra sweet to make up for it,” He places a kiss on my cheek as he retreats to the microwave. My eyes follow after him as he punches in the three minutes it’ll take to cook.

I grab out a big bowl to put the popcorn in once it comes out of the microwave, saying, “I can handle this, if you wanna set up the movie?”

“You’re not gonna ask me which one I picked?” He looks over with a smile as he backs away toward the couch and television.

I don’t even look over at him as I unconsciously reply, “I trust you.” Jefferson leaves the kitchen and I hear him puttering around and turning on the movie. I grab the popcorn bag from the microwave and shake it so the unpopped kernels fall out of the bottom. Once I empty the bag into the bowl and grab my glass, I square my shoulders and walk over to the couch, where Jefferson sits with the remote in his hand. 

“C’mere, there’s a perfect viewing spot right here,” he says patting the couch cushion right next to him. I shrug with a small smile and a shaky breath. I put my cup on a coaster and sit down with about a foot of space between us. I look to Jefferson and see the amusement in his eyes as he makes a move to get more comfortable on the couch. His movements bring his body closer to mine as his arm rests on the top of the couch.

As I tuck my feet under myself to get cozier, I notice the DVD menu playing on the screen. I do a double-take as I look at the images.

“You chose _Penelope_?” I ask incredulously. “I wouldn’t think that would be your first choice.”

Jefferson shrugs as I look to him for an answer. “It looked like an interesting movie. Plus it was right at the front. I figured that meant it was a good one.”

“Right,” I respond with a gulp. “Well, it is.” I don’t mention that it is probably one of my top 5 movies that I own—and I end up watching it about once or twice a month. I reach for the remote and press play, letting my attention mostly drift to the story playing out on screen. Though I can admit that every time Jefferson moves a muscle, my eyes tick to look in my periphery and see what he is doing.

About halfway through the movie, Jefferson’s arm drifts from the back of the couch and rests gently on my shoulder. He clears his throat and I glance over. His eyes ask silently if his movement is acceptable. In response, without breaking eye contact, I shift my position, leaning into his side and tucking my body more firmly beneath his arm.

The movie continues to play as our bodies remain snuggled together on the couch. My eyes become heavy as we sit together and I try to stay awake, but Jefferson’s embrace is so warm. And I feel so safe that I can’t help closing my eyes and drifting into sleep.


	8. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The enchantress recovers under the care of a man and his daughter. It doesn’t take too long, but then why must she stick around?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double post for today because I want to. Enjoy!
> 
> Leave me a comment/kudos if you like it and feel free to subscribe.

It was quiet around the small cabin—peaceful, serene. Of course there were the common noises from the surrounding forest and the neighbors, but there was also a sense of tranquility. It was the first thing the enchantress noticed when she awoke again with a healing wound in solitude. The universe was quiet and all seemed calm. She did not feel drawn to depart, nor did she feel as though she were intruding.

The man and his daughter returned with smiles on their faces as the enchantress sat up. The young girl, Grace, immediately joined the enchantress on the bed and began to inquire about her pain and her recovery.

“I am sure your healer is very competent,” the enchantress replied. “I should be able to leave in a short while.” The girl’s face fell as she sat back on her heels and looked to the blanket.

“But I thought you might stay for tea,” Grace mumbled. Her fingers played with loose threads of the blanket, pulling and tangling them together. She did not look up, but her eyes did flicker in the enchantress’s direction.

The enchantress did not respond. Instead, she looked to the girl’s father to perhaps find an excuse to leave. Though his face appeared stoic and unreadable. With a deep breath, the enchantress stood, swaying only slightly on her feet. The man took a step forward, reaching out his hands as if to catch her, though she did not fall. Grace stood as well, hoping to help support the woman.

“Please, seat yourself,” the man insisted as he approached with cautious feet. “Brunhilde insisted you be bed-ridden for at least a week to provide ample time for healing.” He kept approaching, the enchantress backed away until her knees hit the edge of the bed and she gently lowered herself to sit.

A huff of frustration blew past her lips. “I am quite sure I do not need that long a period of healing.”

But the man wouldn’t budge. The enchantress huffed once more and situated herself more comfortably to sit on the bed. Her feet tucked under her as she turned to lean back against the headboard of the bed frame. No one said anything—the cabin sitting in silence as it seemed even the outside noises ceased. A low growl broke the moment.

“Antoinette!” The leopard stalked forward, shifting her eyes from the man and the girl as she approached the enchantress. The enchantress’s hand fell to the leopard’s head. Within a heartbeat, the woman understood everything her leopard was able to track. The arrow belonged to an ordinary man—a hunter stalking after a deer, but there was something else within his aura. His intentions were somewhat ambiguous. She didn’t like it.

“How beautiful,” Grace said leaning forward to pet the giant cat—completely unafraid. Her father stepped toward the bed, ready to pull his daughter back.

Antoinette leapt onto the bed, sitting on the enchantress’s legs in a comfortable, familiar gesture. The woman finally let herself relax, if only slightly. The man, however, still seemed on edge with the thought of his daughter so close to a predator. Though Antoinette only purred as the girl continued to stroke her fur.

“You do not have to fear,” The enchantress assured the man. “Neither of us will ever harm you. You are safe in our presence.” She looked up with certainty and promise as the man stared back. Locked in each other’s gaze, they did not dare look away—compelled as they were to keep contact.

“Papa,” Grace spoke up, finally shattering the intensity between the adults. Both turned to the girl as she spoke. “Are we still going to hunt for mushrooms today? Can she come with us?” As if a spark were ignited in his memory, the man straightened and looked out the window.

“I think there is just enough light left to find some to sell at market tomorrow.” His words mumbled together as he calculated the sun’s position in the sky and their ability to hunt for their livelihood.

The enchantress gingerly stood and brushed back her cloak for the leopard to retreat back into its safety. Feeling strength and magic slowly returning to her body, she walked forward.

“I should like to accompany you,” the enchantress spoke softly with her hands clutched together before her abdomen. “I am quite grateful to you and quite adept at reading the forest.”

The man studied her for a minute, looking her body up and down before settling on the place where her wound healed. The enchantress’s eyes looked down as well seeing the bandage around her torso stained pink.

“Please, papa! Say she can come.” Grace ran up to her father, grabbing her cloak from the hook and securing it around her shoulders. The man took a moment, donning his own coat before responding.

“I suppose you aren’t quite normal, are you?” he asked.

The enchantress shook her head. Her gait was stilted as she walked through the door and out into the surrounding nature. Magic flowed through her. She felt it start to knit the skin of her wound, healing it completely. Breathing in the fresh air—laced with the scent of wet earth and forest greenery—the enchantress beamed at the man and his child.

The man and his daughter followed after her out of the cabin, a basket clutched in the man’s hand. They walked quietly together far into the woods. Grace flitted about the trees, keeping close but pulling ahead of the adults.

“She is quite special, your Grace,” the enchantress commented offhandedly.

“She is.” The man turned his head with a smile toward the woman. His strides were sure and steady through the forest. Just as comfortable in their surroundings as the enchantress. “Tell me,” he spoke softly. “How did you know that arrow was coming?”

“I felt it in the air.” The enchantress released Antoinette from her cloak, letting the leopard run free and protect the little girl should the need arise.

“How?” he pushed.

The enchantress paused a moment in her steps. She looked down to her ripped dress and her bandages peeking out from underneath. Knowing her skin healed, she carefully pulled away the fabric, revealing the clean skin. As the man caught sight of it, his eyes widened and he looked quickly ahead to his daughter.

“How do you think?” The enchantress wrapped her cloak snugly around herself, changing her dress to one undamaged. The dark fabric reflected the color of the night sky, midnight blue and embroidered with twisting vines and branches black as the surrounding shadows.

The two continued to walk in silence. Until the man broke it. “Why did you save my Grace? You don’t even know us.”

“That is true,” the enchantress replied. She tilted her head up, looking to the sky and trying to hear the universe speak to her. “I don’t know you. I don’t know your family. And I don’t know why I was compelled to intervene. I just did.” She let out a sigh, a soft sound that hummed with the vibrations of the forest around her. Her eyes dropped closed with the pleasant feeling.

“Papa!” Grace ran back toward the adults, a small handful of mushrooms clutched in her dirtied hands.

The enchantress smiled down at the girl. Antoinette stalked after the young girl, a large rabbit in her maw. The woman bent forward to take the creature from her leopard’s teeth. “Thank you.” She offered it out to the man, who looked down to his basket reluctant to take the offering. As a light breeze brushed past the three of them, the enchantress used her power to send the rabbit back to their dwelling. “Apologies,” she said. “I suppose it would be unwise to contaminate the fungus you wish to sell.”

“Where did it go?” Grace asked as she stepped up to the woman. She looked around the forest as though the creature would be somewhere nearby.

“It is back at your home. That way you both may continue your gathering of mushrooms.” The enchantress startled as the young girl threaded their hands together and pulled forward.

“Come on, then,” Grace urged as she pulled the woman forward. “Papa says I am the best at hunting out mushrooms.” She giggled and smiled bright enough to rival the sun even as it started to slowly dip to kiss the horizon.

“I am sure your father is correct.” The enchantress felt a pull, drawing her toward the base of a large—not too far away—tree with massive roots. Without intent, the enchantress guided the little girl with her as she moved through the forest.

“Where are we going?” Grace looked around her but didn’t pull away from the woman’s strong grip. The man ambled after his daughter, keeping pace as to not lose them. 

The tree loomed over them, creating a vast shadow around its roots. The enchantress released Grace’s hand and stepped forward, curious as to why she was drawn to this particular plant. Her hand found the bark, rough under the pads of her fingers. All was silent as she listened.

“Papa! Look at these!” Grace’s voice interrupted the quiet. The enchantress broke away from her spot beside the trunk and looked to Grace, who busily grabbed at the fungus around the roots.

And the enchantress realized her answer. The universe drew her to this tree for the convenience and blessing of this father and daughter. Her head tilted in confusion as she watched the man place down the basket by his daughter and start assisting her to gather the mushrooms they would sell. She didn’t understand.

Antoinette sat beside the father and daughter, in a protective stance, as they continued on their task of filling their basket. The enchantress tried to intuit something from her companion’s behavior, but the feline only coolly stared back. The enchantress listened, she called out with her magic, she searched for some answer from the universe. Surely the fates meant something by this. But only silence met her.

The man stood, brushing his hands on his pants, and approached the enchantress saying, “Thank you for your assistance. With this we will be able to support ourselves.”

The enchantress remained silent, but nodded in acknowledgement.

“You save my daughter’s life and find us this place.” The man smiled so bright, it bloomed warmth in the enchantress’s chest. It was easy to see how Grace learned to smile so easily. “We live humble lives, but our home will always be open to you. From this point until I am no longer living.”

“I don’t even know your name,” the enchantress realized as the man made his proclamation. She was touched by his insistence, but wary of his intentions.

“Jefferson.” He held his hand out. The enchantress reached hers out in kind, but the brush of his lips across her knuckles startled her. She quickly withdrew her hand.

Grace and Antoinette approached with a basket full of fungus—the girl struggling to handle the weight of it. The man—Jefferson—took the basket from his daughter’s hands with a smile. Antoinette stood beside him, rubbing against his leg with a deep purr. The enchantress looked at her companion as Jefferson did, both shocked by the behavior.

“It appears that you have found her favor,” the enchantress commented. “It is not often that happens.” The woman held out her hand, calling the leopard to her side but not back into the safety of her cloak. Jefferson’s eyes followed the feline’s movements.

“I can’t say I was expecting that either.” His eyes drifted up, observing the sky and the dying light. “It is past time we find our way home.” His gaze drifted to the woman and her companion. “Will you accompany us?”

The enchantress paused and listened. There was no pull to somewhere far off, no feeling or premonition. She was simply in this moment with the man and his daughter. She tried to call upon her magic, to drift through the trees and find a shelter for the night, but it remained dormant in her veins. Though this deeply confused and concerned her, she kept her expression neutral.

“If you will have me,” she replied. She turned and started to walk away, though caught the flash of a sentiment in Jefferson’s eyes—one that echoed ‘always.’ She resolved that she would not to compare his gaze to the gaze of Rapunzel, though she knew his was much more uncomfortably comfortable to be trapped in.

The four of them trekked back through the forest, drawing themselves through the cottage door and began to prepare the evening’s meal—cooking the rabbit and some vegetables. They broke bread together and kept each other company as the evening drew on.

“Grace, prepare yourself for bed,” Jefferson eventually spoke up as his daughter started to fall asleep before the fire.

The young girl stood sleepily to wash her face in a basin by the corner. She finished her other preparations for bed and walked back to her father. Her face turned to the enchantress.

“Will you tell me a story?” the young girl asked with a soft smile.

“I’m afraid the only story I know is my own,” the woman replied with a shake of her head. “And it is not one I share often with anyone.”

Grace’s face fell with disappointment before her father spoke up. “I’ll tell you any story you would like, Grace.” He sent her to her bed and followed after with a brief glance back at the enchantress as she stayed by the fire. He sat at his daughter’s bedside and began his tale. The woman listened as raptly as the girl as he spun a story of a far-off land, adventure, and love—a story of two travelers on a quest to find a magical artifact. The enchantress’s eyes drooped and closed as fatigue burrowed into her body. She drifted to sleep with images of grand adventure and romance playing in her mind.


	9. Breakfast and Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the relationship between Lee and Jefferson is heating up by the end of the chapter. Just a heads up, there will be no explicit scenes in the story, but there are a few steamy scenes up ahead.

I wake up and stretch my tired limbs. My body doesn’t seem to want to move from my bed. Instead, it stays in its position as my mind repeatedly replays my first date with Jefferson—like it has done every morning for the past few days. The picnic and the movie, and how he carefully woke me up as the movie ended and kissed me goodbye at my front door before leaving. I turn my face and bury my head into my pillow before my giddy squeal can escape my lips and bother my neighbors. I slowly shift my position to sit and rise from my bed to get ready for the day.

I take my time as I go through my morning routine, a bounce in each step I take. I dress, feed Marie, grab my phone and purse, and leave my apartment while humming to myself. My eyes glance to the screen of my phone, seeing the ‘Good Morning’ message from Jefferson. I bite my lip to try to keep my smile from taking over my face.

“Someone’s happy,” a voice says across the hall. I look up and smile at Kristen. She stands in her own doorway, looking about ready to leave like me.

“I guess I am.” I shrug but can’t keep my smile off my face as I pocket my phone. “It’s just Jefferson. He’s been sending me good morning texts since our date.” Her smile becomes strained, though I can’t fathom why.

“Do you wanna get coffee at Granny’s with me? I have some time before I have to head into the salon.” She closes her door behind her and locks the deadbolt. I lock my own door and turn toward her.

“Why not?” I reply. “It’ll be nice to have the company.” At my response, a bright smile spreads across her cheeks. A chuckle rumbles in my chest and my hands gesture for her to walk ahead of me down the stairs. She grabs my hand in a friendly hold and starts to drag me behind her.

We walk in companionable silence down the street to the diner and find two stools at the counter to sit on. Kristen turns her seat toward me, bumping her knees against mine.

“What can I get you two?” Ruby asks as she walks forward with her pad for our order. She smiles at us in her usual way.

“Two cups of coffee, bacon-egg-and-cheese breakfast sandwich for me, and waffles with a side of sausage for Lee.” Kristen smiles at Ruby as she walks away with our order. My head whips from the waitress to my neighbor and back again as I sit in shock. I never said I was hungry or wanted anything.

“Wait,” I start to call Ruby back, but Kristen stops me with a look.

“Did you eat breakfast today?” Her eyes are accusing, as if she knows that I didn’t. I replay my morning through my head and quickly realize I walked out of my apartment before eating.

“No,” I say with a blush painting my cheeks as I scratch the back of my neck. “I guess I didn’t. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies with a small smile. She reaches over to grab my hand as it rests on the counter. “I figured you hadn’t eaten yet—that is, I kinda hoped.” Her fingers play with mine, threading them together and feeling each digit individually.

My head tilts in mild confusion. I allow her the gesture of playing with my fingers, though it doesn’t seem like something that’s merely friendly. We sit silently together until our food arrives, locked in this strange moment of both watching her trace my hand with hers.

As Ruby loudly sets down the plates with a smirk, we snap out of it and Kristen starts making small talk and we catch up with each other since our last dinner together. In the times I mention Jefferson, her lips tilt down in the corners. I pay it no attention as I keep talking about the shop and how business is going. She touches my hair and insists that she could give me a trim when I need it or maybe some highlights. My shoulders shrug and I finger my own hair, trying to remember the last time I got a haircut. We sit at the counter as we eat, talk, and laugh until it comes time for me to open my shop.

“You go, I’ll get this,” Kristen insists as I glance at the clock and grab out my wallet.

“I can’t let you do that,” I reply and pull out enough money for my coffee and breakfast. “But thank you for the offer.” I stand, pulling on my coat. Without me asking, she stands and helps me. A smile flashes at her over my shoulder and hands grab my purse. “Thanks,” I say taking a step away and turning to her. “This was really fun. I liked having someone to talk to over breakfast.”

“We should do it again.” She smiles over at me. “Maybe just like our dinners. Make it a weekly thing.”

The idea rolls around in my mind for a second before I respond, “Sure. We can talk it over. I’ll see you later, maybe.” I wave and turn to the door, breezing out into the cold morning air and walking to my shop.

My hands shake slightly from the cold as I unlock the door and push in. I scurry back to the back room and turn on the heater to warm up my shop—the weather is definitely getting colder. The forecasts and news channels are all predicting a huge, stay-inside-or-else kind of storm that will blow through our town within a few days—maybe even as soon as this evening.

I grab my book and make my way to the front of the shop when I feel the buzz of my phone in my pocket. My hands scramble to pull it out as I sit down at my stool behind the counter.

‘I want to see you.’

I blush as I read Jefferson’s text and bite my lip. My stomach flip-flops as I think of what to say and end up replying, ‘If you want to see me, you know where I am.’ I place down my phone only to jump when it immediately buzzes again.

‘Is that an invitation?’

‘Just an observation.’ An uncharacteristic smirk forms on my lips as I revel in some of the tentative confidence I feel texting Jefferson. Away from his piercing gaze and honey-sweet voice, I don’t feel as flustered.

As expected, my phone buzzes once more after the reply, though this time the buzz is the one I set for my ringtone. Glancing at the screen, eyes wide, I realize he’s decided to call me. I swipe the button and bring my shaking hand to my ear.

“Hello?” I answer as a deep chuckle greets me on the other end of the line.

“You know, sweetheart, you were getting a little sassy in your texts.” His voice breathes a warmth through my chest as I smile.

“Is sassy good or bad?” My question is quiet, but I can tell he listens intently for my response. My fingers fidget with the keys of the cash register in front of me as I try to gather my wits and not be thrown completely off-kilter by just the tones of his voice.

“Definitely good,” he assures me, “Its one of the things I enjoy about you. I’m learning something new each day.” I hear shuffling over the line and try to think of what he could be doing. “So, the reason I called and texted.” A hum of interest brushes past my lips to prompt him to continue. “Like I said, I want to see you. And—” He pauses for a moment, but doesn’t continue on in his thought.

“And?” I ask.

He takes another moment of contemplation before clearing his throat and continuing, “And I was wondering if I could cook you dinner tonight? Like at my place. Just the two of us.”

“Tonight?” My voice raises an octave as I realize that I am completely unprepared for a dinner—with Jefferson—in his home—alone. A heavy breath blows through my lips as I contemplate my answer.

He even waits for a moment for me to think before backtracking, “You don’t have to. If you have other plans with your friends. And I’m not much of a cook.”

“No,” I say, interrupting him. “The picnic you made was delicious. And I would love to see you for dinner tonight.” My eyes squeeze shut, forcing myself to take the plunge once again. Though I know—deep, deep down—that I would spend every minute of every day with him, my body still gets jittery with nerves every time I think about spending time alone in his presence. “Sometimes I just get nervous because I’m pretty sure you have an impression of me that’s somewhat false,” I admit in muttered words over the line.

“Or maybe I can just see you for who you really are,” he immediately replies. A choked gasp remains muffled in my throat as I swallow it down. We sit quietly on the line for a minute or two. The clenched muscles of my face relax, listening to him breath. “I’ll text you my address so you can drive?”

“Yeah.” I nod my head synchronously with my answer, convincing myself as much as I’m agreeing to his suggestion. “What time should I be there?”

“Whenever you close the shop.” There’s a definite smile on his face, just from his voice alone I can tell. My insides warm at the thought, as do my cheeks.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I promise,” I reply.

“I trust you,” he admits—echoing from previous conversations. I bite back a smile as we both say our goodbyes and hang up.

The rest of the day remains completely monotonous as I watch the clock ticking down to shop closing time. I stare equally at the text holding Jefferson’s address. Not even Monty at lunchtime can really pull me into the conversation he’s trying to have. The usual amount of customers come and go, but as they start to dwindle around closing time, my skin starts to itch and my eyes glue themselves to the door. No one else seems to be coming, and with half an hour left, molasses seems to take over time. Debating occupational consistency over personal interest, I quickly get up and flip the closed sign. I rush to the back room and gather up my belongings, determined to head home and make sure I look presentable before venturing to Jefferson’s place.

I grab everything I need and dash out the door, locking it with steady hands. The trip back to my apartment is the quickest I’ve ever walked and I scurry through my door, tossing my bag on the couch as I bluster through like a whirlwind, checking my reflection and feeding Marie.

“I have a date,” I explain to Marie taking brief pauses to stop as I speak, “so I won’t be back until late, maybe. I might be gone all night? I don’t know.”

My body fully stops to contemplate for a moment, but I shake my head and keep going, stripping off my clothes and finding something nicer to wear while dragging a brush through my hair. Trying to complete three things at once, I kick off my shoes and throw on a nice but somewhat casual dress while checking my makeup in the mirror for touch-ups.

“I should tell Kristen in case she needs to check up on you,” I mutter to both Marie and myself.

Seeing myself presentable in the mirror, I grab my purse from the couch and my keys from the dish by the door before kissing Marie on the head and breezing out of my apartment. Turning quickly from the door, I catch Kristen putting her keys in her lock.

“Kristen!” I exclaim, completely blown away by my luck. “I was just going to call you!” My smile is wide on my face as she turns and catches a glimpse of me.

“Wow, Lee, you look stunning,” she compliments as her eyes glimpse my dress under my coat. I glance down quickly. Her expression is unreadable as she looks up at me again, something burning in her eyes. “You said you needed to talk to me?”

“Thanks,” I look down at myself and catch her eye again. “And yeah, I’m going out and I was wondering if you would check on Marie for me, if I don’t make it back tonight?” A blush rises over my cheeks. I stumble over my words and try to think of what to say to amend my meaning.

“Oh,” The tone in her voice causes me to pause—it sounds hollow, distant. I look up at her.

“Is everything alright?” I ask as I step forward. “Did something happen at the salon today?”

She shakes her head and shrugs, brushing it off. She says, “Don’t worry about it.” But something’s just not right.

“Really, Kristen, if you need—” I start, but she interrupts me with a wave of her hand.

“Like I said, don’t worry about it. I’m fine. Think I just ate something off for lunch. No big deal.” She gestures for me to be on my way. My fingers play with my keys in my hand as I turn away.

“If you’re sure,” I murmur. She smiles tightly as she turns to her own door and unlocks the knob. “See you.” Her figure retreats without another word into her apartment and I walk through the hallway, out of the building, and to my car.

My little, old car sputters to start after getting infrequent daily use. I find comfort in the low, purring rumble as I follow the directions to Jefferson’s house. What greets me when I pull up to the property shocks and amazes. I knew, looking at his address, that he would live more isolated from the rest of the town and that he would have a large house—I was not expecting the gargantuan mansion that greets me. My eyes trace the building as my car drives up the driveway. The car parks in front of the door and I sit, breathing deeply to try to relax.

As I finally pull myself together and step out of the car, the front door opens to reveal Jefferson, smiling wide and welcoming. My face can’t help but mirror his. I close my car door and lock it quickly before scurrying to stand in front of the doorway.

“Hi,” he mutters in a sigh, like he’s been waiting for me all day in order to breathe. His eyes scan me, not resting on any one place.

I smile in response and murmur my own greeting. My hands fidget with the hem of my coat as my feet shift in place. “You have a lovely, large house,” I compliment with a glance behind me at the driveway.

“It sure is something, isn’t it?” He gestures for me to enter as he holds open the door. My eyes glance around the visible rooms as I take my first steps inside. It looks nicely designed, but I can’t help but feel that it isn’t exactly a home—it feels so looming and lonely.

“It’s very lovely,” I compliment as he offers to take my coat and purse. I hand them over and hear his brief intake of breath. My cheeks instantly heat in a blush as his eyes bore into my figure.

“You’re spoiling me, I think,” he says with a smile. His hand comes out to grasp mine and spin me in a circle to admire my whole outfit. “Keep dressing like that and I’ll never want you to leave.”

As his eyes rake up and down, a shiver rockets up my spine. My eyes glance away and I silently promise to dress up especially for him. My teeth worry my lower lip as he steps closer and wraps an arm around my waist.

Thunder claps.

I jump and trip over my toes, falling into his chest. We both look outside as rain begins to downpour, fat drops of precipitation falling in a steady staccato. My eyes slowly break away from watching the rain to look at Jefferson’s face. His eyes remain locked on the window.

“Looks like the storm’s starting.” Jefferson’s arms pulse in reassurance around me. “Good thing I got everything I need to keep us comfortable.” He pulls away as his hand finds mine again, leading me to a dining room and a table piled with food for us to enjoy. I look down at my feet as he glances back at me. His hand pulses in comfort again and I glance up at him. “I’m so happy you’re here with me.”

“I’m happy I’m here too.” I blush and glance out the window. “And if the storm keeps up, I already talked to Kristen and she’s looking in on Marie for me just in case.” His smirk burns as he looks at me. He leads me over to a chair and pulls it out.

“Did you do that just because of the storm?”

“No, I just wanted to be prepared with someone to look after Marie,” my voice drops to a whisper, “in case I didn’t make it home tonight.” I quickly sit so he can’t see my face and he helps push in my chair. I might combust and burst spontaneously into flames if the heat in my face is any indication. My heartbeat thumps in my chest. My shoulders tense, inching up toward my ears.

“Hey,” Jefferson murmurs, breaking me out of my thoughts. I look up as his hand comes to rest on my shoulder. “You don’t have to hide from me.” His hand travels from my shoulder to the back of my neck, cradling my skull and tilting my head up to look at him as he leans over me. “I want you here with me as much as you want to be with me. I promise you.”

My eyes flicker to his lips and my throat dries. I swallow and lick my lips, searching for moisture. I lean forward, brushing my lips against his in a caress. His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me away slightly. We breath each other’s air for a moment. His eyes are closed and I admire his long lashes.

“Dinner first,” Jefferson says as he leans forward slightly, his lips nearly against mine as he speaks. “Then I have some movies we can watch.” He draws back a bit. ”And if the power goes out, we can decide what you want to do.”

His eyes open and scorching fire licks down my spine toward the apex of my thighs. I shift uncomfortably as Jefferson continues to draw away, sitting in the chair adjacent to mine and smiling with an easy charm. Like a fly, I am caught in his spider web as he places his napkin on his lap and starts serving without taking his gaze off of me.


	10. A Sudden Draw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up at the cottage.

The enchantress woke to morning light streaming through the window. With a jolt, she sat up taking in her surroundings before remembering her injury and her time spent with Jefferson and Grace. She relaxed back in the bed before realizing she had fallen asleep in a chair by the fire the night previous—and all the nights before that in the weeks she had spent virtually stuck without her full magic. Her brow furrowed to wonder how her body made the transfer from the chair to the bed. It had never happened before.

“Good morning.” Grace smiled and climbed in the bed beside the woman, tucking her small body close. The enchantress let her arms drift protectively over the girl’s shoulder.

In their first moments of meeting, the enchantress knew that Grace was a girl of pure intentions and goodness. The following weeks in her and her father’s company only proved how apropos her name really was. The young girl treated the woman as family, treated everyone as such with sweetness and kindness. She fed Antoinette scraps from her plate, though the large cat didn’t need it. She aided any injured animal she happened across in the forest. She shared every kind word in her vocabulary with the world around her. In short, the enchantress witnessed Grace’s actions and vowed to protect her, to shield her from harm or unhappiness.

“Willow,” Grace spoke, using the name she had bestowed upon the enchantress the third day the woman was with them. “Papa said that today we would search for berries in the forest after we play.”

The enchantress nodded, but did not speak as she felt a crackle of magic in her veins and, finally after so long without, a draw to travel away from the coziness of the cottage. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a harshly gasped breath left her—a gasp of relief as well as remorse. Of course, Grace immediately noticed the change in demeanor.

“What’s wrong?” Her face turned with a concerned look. Antoinette lay curled in a corner of the cottage, basking in the light shining through the window. As the enchantress looked over, the leopard lifted her head in a silent acknowledgement—she felt the pull too. A deep sigh echoed from the enchantress as her head dropped.

“I think it’s time for me to leave,” she replied, her voice laced with exhaustion and sorrow. Grace immediately began to shake her head, denying what the woman said.

“No,” she insisted. “Willow, you have to stay here to pick berries with us. And you promised you would tell me your story on my birthday. This is your home. You don’t have to go anywhere ever again.” Grace’s fingered burrowed into the fabric of the enchantress’s cloak, trying to keep the woman where she sat. “Please stay.”

“It is not in my nature to stay. That is not what is planned for me.” She removed her arm from around the girl and moved her legs around the side of the bed. She did not look to Grace as she spoke, knowing she would see tears in the girl’s eyes. “One day I will return to tell you my story and you will understand. But there are things I must do and someone I care deeply about whom I can finally see again.” The enchantress stood and held back her hand for Grace to grab. “Come see me off.”

Grace’s small hand laced through the enchantress’s fingers as they drew away from the bed and embarked outside. The enchantress could hear the girl’s muffled sniffles as she followed. Once outside the door, the enchantress turned and crouched low to look in Grace’s eyes.

“Should you need me, you must only call into the forest to ask for me and a messenger will find me and I will return to you.” The woman’s hands gestured to the surrounding trees. “Try it.”

Grace looked around and closed her eyes. “Please, I would like to see Willow.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but the breeze carried her voice through the trees. The enchantress took a step back as a rustle in the bushes revealed a brown rabbit hopping toward her. She bade Grace observe as the rabbit sat at her feet and conveyed the message.

“Your plea will find me anywhere I go,” the enchantress assured as she placed a hand on Grace’s head. “This I promise.” She leaned down to kiss the girl’s forehead, even as tears traced down the girl’s cheeks. “And now I must depart.”

The enchantress took a step back, calling Antoinette to her cloak and feeling the magic crackle through her veins. She knew she was being taken back to Rapunzel and a smile lit up her features.

“You’re leaving.” Jefferson’s voice broke through to the enchantress before she could disappear and soar through the forest. The enchantress’s smile dropped.

“Yes,” she replied. Suddenly nervous as his eyes observed her. Though she had been close to Grace in her time living with the family, Jefferson always set the enchantress off-kilter. She could not stand the way his eyes would bore into her as if seeing the truth of her existence. He saw too much of her—made her feel vulnerable— but treated her with such kindness and compassion. She could not understand his intentions, not completely. “I must go where I am drawn. If it is permissible, I would like to return when I can.” She clutched her hands before her body as if they might shield her from his reproach. Despite all her mixed up feeling about the man, Jefferson proved noble and kind—and he, just like his daughter, had found a place in the enchantress’s heart.

“Always,” he replied as easy as breathing. “You will always be welcome with us and in our home.” The enchantress smiled. Though she loved Rapunzel deeply and yearned to see her once again—to hold her and ease her loneliness—she would regret leaving them—the time they spent apart. 

Jefferson reached out his hand. The enchantress placed her own delicately into his. He bent to kiss her hand, his lips brushing her knuckles. Her eyes softened as a fond smile graced her lips.

“Until you return to us.” His voice, honey soaked and rich, sent a pleasant shiver up the enchantress’s spine. Though she did not show it, her heart thumped in her chest.

The enchantress withdrew her hand and took a step back. With little thought over whether it was deserved or not, she granted the family a blessing—sent on a kiss blown through the wind—before vanishing in a mist and traveling through the forest to where the universe led.

Her feet planted firmly on the window ledge, the enchantress smiled at the room of Rapunzel’s tower.


	11. A Day In

I sputter and startle, spitting out fur as I push Marie off my face in an early morning haze. A groan echoes in my head and I burrow my face in my pillow with a shift in my position to my other side. The arm draped over my waist tightens it’s hold and draws me closer.

“Sleep,” he mumbles and buries his face in my neck. His calm breath evens out slightly but not in sleep. “It’s too early to be awake.” His lips leave a trail of kisses across my collarbones as his head travels back to the pillow beside me.

Marie refuses to be ignored and takes the opportunity to sit once again on my head. I huff in annoyance and attempt to sit up.

“Yes, yes,” I grumble. “I get it. You want me to get up and feed you.” My limbs begin to stretch even as Jefferson’s arms hold firm. I look down to him, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead and leaning down to place a gentle kiss on his lips. As I pay the fine for temporarily leaving his embrace, he releases me.

I throw the covers off my body and plant my feet on the cold floor. A hiss stutters past my lips at the contact, a chuckle emanating from behind me. A glare shoots over my shoulder in his direction, but a smile cracks the illusion of my annoyance after only seconds. I instead roll my eyes and stand up.

My apartment is quiet as I pad down the stairs from my loft squinting in the half light to see the steps before heading in the direction of my kitchen. Marie follows me around as I grab her bowl and prepare her breakfast.

As she takes her first bites, I mutter, “Now will you leave me in peace?” Her eyes calmly blink up at me for a moment before she returns to her dish. With a brief yawned “Thank you,” I turn and head back to the warmth and comfort of my bed.

On the stairs back up, I take a second to contemplate the past weeks—almost a month—since venturing to Jefferson’s house for dinner during the storm. That night had taken the spark between us and added gasoline. Halfway through the dinner, the power had gone out leaving us to finish the evening with only candlelight. Heated glances had quickly turned to heated caresses and then to an explosion of ecstasy with a lazy morning after—like this one was turning out to be. My slow ascent puts my bed in my view where Jefferson waits for me. My heart flutters as I see his position.

Jefferson lays in the center of the bed, waiting for me with his arms open wide. A smile spreads across my lips slow as molasses but sweet like honey. I crawl up the bed, planting myself almost completely on top of him. His arms immediately snake back around me, positioning me as he prefers. My legs fall on either side of his hips as he rolls my pliant body where he wants me. My braided hair flops forward, hitting his chest with a soft thump as I push up with my hands on the pillows beside his head. My body lifts a few inches off of his own. His eyes crawl up my figure, cataloging every detail of me that he can see, before finding my gaze. His body arches upward, his chin tilting to capture my lips with his.

The kiss remains unhurried as our lips sync in movement, a sound of contentment twittering in my throat. His fingers dig into my hip as his lips travel my jaw. I revel in the thought of bruises left on my skin by his grip. My fingers trail his neck, fixating on the indented scar that resides there—something that immediately sparked my interest the first time I saw it.

His teeth nip in silent warning. I gasp.

His lips find my own and once again begin their lazy waltz, his tongue licking into my mouth. My fingers once again find the scar on his neck as I pull away—only far enough away to press my forehead against his, to catch his gaze.

“Will you tell me how you got this?” I whisper in inquiry, hoping to keep the delicate intimacy of the moment. Jefferson shifts beneath me and his hands fall loosely away from my hips. He draws back pressing his body further into the bed as if it might swallow him. I lean my own body down to his, kissing along his scar from one end to the other. “If you don’t want to tell me, I understand.”

He stays silent for a long time, my lips tracing across his scar, his collarbones, his chin, his cheeks—any patch of skin where I can plant my lips—before he answers, “I was stupid. I trusted someone I shouldn’t have—ignored someone else much wiser than me. I almost died.” My quest across his skin freezes as that fact sinks heavy lead in my bones. “I almost lost everything. I’m still trying to build myself back to the life I want.” His hands grasp my cheeks, tilting my face to stare into my eyes with a deep intensity and longing. My stomach plummets and my heart flip-flops. His brow remains furrowed but his eyes ask silent pleas that I can’t quite understand. “Because of you, I feel like I can be the man that I want to be.”

As he sits up, I move my body back. He chases my retreat and I yelp in surprise as my back finds the foot of my bed. He cages me in with his body, looming over me and advancing with determined fire in his eyes. Under his heat, I melt completely.

“And now you’re all mine,” he growls, voice like a cascade of boulders. I tilt my head as his lips find my throat, teeth and tongue and lips working to mark me. A breathy sigh escapes my parted lips as he continues his task.

I nod my head in vehement agreement, ready to lose all sense of time, of place, of self in him, when I hear a knock at my door. Snapping back to reality, I listen as the sound ceases for a second. Then the insistent knock continues as I push Jefferson away with my fingertips and sit up. My brow furrows in confusion—the sentiment mirrored on his face.

“I should check that,” I say halting over every syllable, hoping that the knocking will disappear. I pull myself away, slipping slowly off the bed and grabbing a robe to drape over my shoulders and sleeping attire.

My feet scuttle down the stairs, more rapidly with the help of the sun which now peeks through my windows. I rush to the door where Marie sits, waiting. My head cocks to the side seeing her strange behavior. I turn the deadbolt with a flick of my wrist and pull open the door.

A sigh pushes out of my nose. “Haven’t we established that visiting your aunt in the morning all by yourself isn’t a good idea?”

Paige nods, but starts twisting her fingers together. “Yes, but I had a good reason this time. I promise. And my dad knows I’m here. He drove me over.” My brow cocks high on my forehead as I look to her face, seeing if I can spot a lie. She just smiles up at me, innocence radiating from her. With another sigh and a muffled groan, I gesture into my apartment.

“Alright, fine, as if I would turn you away,” I grumble with a glance up to my bed. I point to my couch, trying to think of how to explain Jefferson’s presence in my home. “Sit there,” I say pointing to the couch, “and wait for me. I have to get ready.” I pause. “I also have some company over, so I guess you’ll be meeting him too.” I run an exasperated hand down my face. Paige nods with a chirpy agreement before sitting to play with Marie.

I look back at her to check she’s staying downstairs before trudging upstairs, growling under my breath about notice and texting. As soon as my feet make the landing of my loft, warm arms encase me and pull me into a—now—clothed frame. I blink up at Jefferson as he smiles down at me.

“There is far too much amusement in your eyes,” I murmur. He brushes a strand of hair out of my face as I pull away and start rummaging around my wardrobe to find something decent to wear. I tug on the clothes, venturing into my bathroom to pull a brush through my hair before braiding it back again. “Of all the days my brother-in-law has to spring something on me.” My bottom lip pushes out in a pout as I look to Jefferson through the mirror. “I’m sorry about this, but she needs me.” His eyes are still dancing with mirth as he places his arms around me.

“Don’t be,” he breathes into my neck. “Family has to come first.” His hands run over my hips and I whimper before I can stop myself. He pulls away and backs up, his hand coming up in invitation.

I turn from the mirror and grab his hand, leading the both of us down the stairs. Paige sits on my couch with Marie purring loudly. Taking a moment for a deep breath, I clear my throat.

“Paige, sweetie,” I say with every effort to keep my voice steady. “This is Jefferson.” I pull him forward as he remains frozen beside me. My eyes glance over at him, and though he still exudes charm and an easy-going demeanor, he doesn’t move or attempt to introduce himself. Paige, on the other hand, perks up and places Marie on the couch to bounce over.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Jefferson,” she says with a bright, beaming smile and and outstretched hand. I nudge the man next to me, prompting him to shake her hand in greeting.

“Nice to meet you, Paige,” he replies, finally snapping out of his strange mood. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I haven’t heard anything about you,” Paige replies with a mild glare in my direction. I choke on a breath and struggle to find what to say. Jefferson laughs under his breath.

“Well, I mean,” I blather. A small, reassuring squeeze pulses my hand still held in Jefferson’s grip. “It hasn’t been that long since we started dating and I haven’t seen you in a while. I haven’t had the opportunity.”

Paige turns a fierce, observant gaze toward the man standing beside me to ask, “Do you love my Aulee?” The blush forms, rising from my toes to the tips of my ears. My mouth opens and closes, gasping for something to say to divert this conversation.

“You don’t have to answer that,” I tell Jefferson. He stands next to me with a smile on his face. His hand untangles from mine and wraps around my waist to pull me closer and kiss my temple.

“I don’t think I can explain how much I do,” he replies to Paige, completely ignoring my statement.

Paige takes a scrutinizing minute of just staring at Jefferson with a scowl before a bright smile bursts across her face.

“Good,” she chirps as she comes to hug me tight around my waist. I lean slightly away from Jefferson’s grip to hold her, my hands lightly resting on her back. Her wide eyes smile up at me. “So I’m here because my mom and dad had to go to a meeting where they couldn’t take me.” My eyes glance up to the ceiling as I let out a sigh. As quiet as I try to make it, Paige still seems to hear me and starts to withdraw. “Are you mad that I’m here?”

I quickly shake my head. “No, of course not, sweetie.” My fingers tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “No. It’s never that,” I sigh once again, “I just wish your parents would ask me more in advance.” My hands gesture around my apartment. “I obviously don’t have anything planned. If I had more time, we could do something together.”

“Why not have a nice day in?” Jefferson suggests as his arms tighten around me, pulling the two of us closer to him. “We can make cookies, build a pillow fort, and watch movies. What do you say?”

I look down at Paige as she nods and quietly chants “yes, yes, yes, yes!” I chuckle and nod as well, taking a moment to grin over at Jefferson.

“Alright then,” I say, releasing Paige. “Jefferson, you grab blankets and pillows. Paige and I will scrounge around for some breakfast and find a cookie recipe we can make.”

We break apart, Jefferson’s hand releasing me as it ghosts over my side in one final caress. Paige rushes over to the kitchen, knowing where I keep my family cookbook and starting to flip through the various cookie recipes. My eyes watch Jefferson as he takes a few steps away, pauses, and turns back. His arms grab me once more and pull my lips to his for one final kiss before setting about his mission.

I blush and turn toward my kitchen, where Paige focuses on the cookbook. Only her barely suppressed smile gives away the fact that she witnessed the exchange between the two of us.

“Did you find a cookie recipe?” I ask, avoiding any comments on my relationship. “Or are you still looking?” My eyes glance over the page she’s reading through.

“I found your peanut butter cookie recipe.” She points to the page and looks up at me. “Is that one alright?” I nod and glance over the ingredients, trying to remember whether I had all of the supplies we need to make them after breakfast.

“I think I have peanut butter chips in the freezer and I have everything else in the pantry or fridge. So we should be alright,” I say as footfalls down the stairs capture my attention. Jefferson descends, his arms piled high with blankets and pillows. “So what does everyone want for breakfast?”

In reply, I hear mumbles and some unhelpful comments about being alright with whatever. A sigh blows out my nose and I set to work. I may not be the very best cook in comparison to others like Monty, but I can at least make breakfast.

“Alright Paige, why don’t you start toasting some bread.” I walk to the freezer and take out a loaf of sourdough for her to use. I also grab eggs, cheese, and ham from the fridge.

Paige starts defrosting bread using the microwave before putting each piece in my toaster to crisp up. I begin with shredding the cheese and cubing the ham before cracking the eggs to scramble. We work quickly together, getting enough buttery toast and scrambled eggs with cheese and ham ready by the time Jefferson has found all usable blankets and pillows in my apartment. As I add the salt and pepper to the eggs, Jefferson snakes his arms around my waist from behind. He hums in delight and kisses my neck.

“Smells delicious, though I know there’s one thing I’m absolutely craving right now,” he purrs in my ear so Paige doesn’t overhear. He chuckles as I blush at his insinuation before I smack his chest with the back of my hand.

Before I can pull my hand back to turn off the stove, his hand catches mine and he brings it to brush a kiss across my knuckles and in the center of my palm. I look at him over my shoulder with a playful glare. A twitter of laughter catches my attention and I whip my head in the other direction to see Paige giggling over the toast she is buttering. I roll my eyes and pull away from Jefferson to grab our plates and dish up breakfast.

We eat together and wash the dishes afterward before making the cookies and building our movie-watching pillow fort. And sitting in the fort, in a nest of blankets and pillows, I sigh in contentment leaning against Jefferson. We all snuggle together, comfortable and happy as a Disney movie plays in the background. Paige rests her head on my legs as Jefferson holds my body to his. I can’t help but think that with these people, these feelings, this moment, I have found perfection.


	12. Empty (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The enchantress arrives back at the tower and does not like what she finds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long one, so I broke it up into two parts. This chapter and the next will be from the Enchanted Forest.

The rough tower stone beneath the enchantress’s feet acted as an anchor to keep her on the window ledge as she observed her surroundings. The dark room sat empty before her, trashed and overturned by furious hands.

The only trace of Rapunzel lay coiled in the corner around a seated figure shrouded in the shadows of the tower room. The enchantress stepped from the ledge to enlighten herself on the situation. Gothel sat with lengths of hair in her lap, an old comb stroking through the strands. The old witch looked up. A sneer crossed her face.

“What happened?” the enchantress asked. Her voice broke through the room like a bass drum beat—heavy, shattering the silence. Her feet took her closer to the woman as she continued to comb through the hair.

“This is your fault,” Gothel replied in a voice no louder than a whisper. “You’re the one who showed her the beauty of the outside, who gave her hope for a brilliant world. You did this.”

The enchantress stepped forward and crouched down. “I don’t understand. Where is Rapunzel?” Her eyes traced the room, looking for her friend—her love. “What have you done with her?”

“What have I done?” A bitter laugh escaped Gothel’s dry lips. The enchantress tilted her head, a fuzzy ache creeping up her spine. “She’s gone!” Murder entered the old woman’s eyes as she stood abruptly and stalked forward like a hungry wildcat.

“She can’t have left,” the enchantress tried to reason as she fell on her back in surprise at the old woman. She started to crawl away as Gothel’s towering form advanced. “I was coming back for her. We could have—”

Steely rage cooled the murder in Gothel’s eyes. “Another found this tower and ventured to climb its height. He found Rapunzel all alone and stole her from me!” Her voice raised higher and higher in volume as the old woman’s anger controlled her. She reached down as fast as lightning and grasped the enchantress’s chin. Shock and dismay prevented the enchantress from pulling away, from fighting for her freedom. “She claimed he is her true love.”

“But,” the enchantress swallowed, “I—she—I loved her.” Tears began to prick in the corners of the enchantress’s eyes. She finally yanked her face away from Gothel with a twist of her body, her hands smacking into the floor as she tried to support herself. Her breathing became labored, pushing noisily and quickly past her lips.

“And you thought she would love you back,” Gothel mocked. The old woman crouched down and ‘tsk’ed under her breath. “How wrong we both were.” She retreated back to the pile of coiled auburn hair and began to once again stroke the comb—reverently, delicately—through the strands. “And now this is all we have left.”

The enchantress stood on shaking legs as she backed away slowly toward the window.

“She’s gone, forever?” she asked as she leaned against the wall by the window. The old woman did not give a response, but started to hum an old lullaby as she finished brushing the hair and began to braid it.

The enchantress leaned heavily against the window frame as she heaved herself onto the ledge. Her gaze drifted down, toward the distant ground at the foot of the towers. She closed her eyes, pushing a few tears to roll down her cheeks. Her mind concentrated and tried to reach out toward the distance—searching for some hint, some indication of Rapunzel’s heart calling for her. Silence met her from the forces which guided her. She felt it then, an earth-shattering crack across her heart.

She vanished from the tower ledge and floated on the mist in the direction of the universe, searching for Rapunzel and in need of a better explanation. The enchantress became frantic in her search, scouring all of the surrounding kingdoms for her love, but finding no trace of her.

As she searched, a need began to build within her—continuous and persistent. A draw, stronger than any before it, began to steer her off her path of search. Unable to subvert the compulsion to follow the destined path of the universe, she appeared by a forest road.

The pleasant sun shone down on her form, the rays more like burning fire than the normal warmth in which she usually indulged. The enchantress scanned around the area, looking for the reason she was brought to this location at this time. She raised her hood to conceal her identity as she waited. Long, thin grey hair veiled her face as wrinkles overtook her features and disguised her beauty. She turned away from the path, drawn into the forest, stumbling through the brambles and into the cover of the trees.

The pull drew her to a clearing. Her knees met the cool, damp earth as she collapsed to the forest floor. Tears streamed across her cheeks like river rapids. Broken sobs escaped her lips before a great anguished cry ripped from her heart and through her vocal chords. Birds fluttered away from their nests and woodland creatures scattered. Truth sunk like a stone in her gut—she would never find Rapunzel again. And her Rapunzel, her hope of happily ever after, had found true love in another. The pain wracked her heart, unbearable. She could not find the will to change from her disguise to her normal appearance, nor could she lift her cloak to release Antoinette and find comfort in her constant companion.

Snapping branches and the swish of parted leaves met her ears as she wallowed and wailed in her heartbreak. The enchantress paid them no mind, for she did not care if danger found her in the moment of her misery. Footsteps echoed before her in an approach. She saw the feet plant firmly in front of her cowering form.

The person crouched down to place their hand upon hers—her nails digging deep grooves into the earth. “Willow?”

The enchantress looked up with tear-filled eyes that blurred her vision. As the drops dripped down her cheeks, she caught a brief glimpse of crystal blue eyes and a messy mop of brown hair.

“It is you, isn’t it Willow?” Jefferson asked as he shuffled slightly closer. The woman nodded in silence, words escaping her. His hands touched the hood of her cloak, gently brushing it off her head. Her disguise melted away, leaving the tears in her eyes and the heartbreak in her chest. He sighed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Pulling her up slightly as he stood, the enchantress followed him. “Let’s get you somewhere safe, it’s almost dark out.”

The enchantress stood and followed her friend, feeling numbness begin to creep past the edges of her pain. How she wanted to just sink deep into that empty, unfeeling abyss and forget all of her strife.

They came upon Jefferson’s cottage, Grace peeking excitedly out the window. Upon catching sight of their visitor, she rushed out to greet and embrace the enchantress. Her father stopped her.

“Grace,” he said, stopping her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Go inside and make up the bed for our guest.” When his daughter hesitated, her mouth opening in protest, he gently repeated, “Go.”

Grace trudged back inside and prepared the enchantress a place to sleep on the bed, righting the blankets and gathering the pillows all together at the head. The door opened as Jefferson dragged the woman into the warmth of the small cottage.

Each step was filled with hesitation for the enchantress. She didn’t want their hospitality and their kindness. She wanted what she could no longer have. The thought sunk in as her body sunk to the comfort of the bed. The enchantress stripped her cloak from her shoulders slowly and draped it like a blanket over her body. Bundled beneath it, she turned her back on the small family and let herself wallow in her heartbreak.

“Papa,” Grace asked in a muted question. “What’s wrong with Willow?”

The silence stretched for a moment in the cottage before Jefferson answered, “She’s in pain.”

“Can we help her?” Some cloth rustled, but the enchantress made no move to turn and see what was happening in the room behind her. She only wished to be left alone.

“I’m afraid only time will heal her wounds, my precious Grace.” Their footsteps echoed in the cottage as they shuffled further away from her bed.

The two of them puttered around the home, completing chores and preparing for the morning while the enchantress tried to block out their presence. Eventually, the time for sleep arrived and she heard Jefferson tuck his daughter into her bed with a story. She closed her eyes, listened, and waited for sleep to finally overtake her.

Soft footsteps approached her bedside. The enchantress felt the gaze of another person looming over her. Even with her eyes closed, she knew that Jefferson stood above her beside the bed. He sat lightly, his weight shifting the blankets. She expected he would be checking to see if she were awake. What she did not expect was the touch of his lips in a soft kiss to her temple. The enchantress kept pretending that slumber had already claimed her, but she could feel the blush rise to her cheeks and the tears form in her eyes even as Jefferson stood up and left her side.

She silently cried that night until sleep dragged her under to unconsciousness. The next morning, she was awoken by a companion hopping into the bed beside her and snuggling under the warmth of her cloak.

“Willow, wake up. The sun is shining and Papa said that the two of us will spend our day together while he goes to market.”

The enchantress’s eyes cracked open in the harsh light of the morning. Her dry throat scratched against the words with which she wished to answer. Instead, she stood on clumsy legs and brushed her cloak away from her onto the bed. She flipped over the bottom hem, letting Antoinette stalk out of the fabric and jump to land at her feet. The large cat wove around her legs in comfort as the enchantress searched for water for her dehydrated body and to cleanse her face of tears. She felt Grace’s eyes following her every movement.

“Will you tell me your story now?” The young girl asked. The enchantress dropped her head on her shoulders and sighed through her nose. She drank heartily from a cup of water before nodding.

“Yes, I suppose it can be your bedtime story tonight.” Her voice was hollow and lacking emotion as she spoke. Her whole body felt the same—a never-ending hole where her internal organs should be. And, as she looked over to Grace’s beaming features, a war raged inside her. Her heartbreak called for numbness, but somewhere deep, past all the ache and pain, was a spark that knew this little girl before her was worthy of her story when Rapunzel may not have been. She swallowed down those thoughts and shook them from her head.

Grace bounced around the cottage, chittering and filled with glee. She spent the day filled with excitement as the two of them completed chores and prepared for the return of her father. The enchantress spent the day watching after the girl with a conflicted air of disinterest.

Jefferson arrived back from the market later that day as the sun started to kiss the horizon. They ate dinner together as Grace asked her father about his day and he replied with his own questions in turn. The enchantress listened to them, not engaging in their conversation or adding to the joyful atmosphere of their home—which caused guilt to fester in the back of her throat.

And then it was time for Grace to go to sleep. Jefferson immediately went to her side to sit on the edge of her bed and recall a story for her to fall asleep by. But the young girl’s wide eyes sought out those of the enchantress and the woman walked over to sit on the side opposite her host. She felt Jefferson’s question burning through his gaze as he watched her face. The enchantress’s remained a neutral mask.


	13. A Bedtime Story (2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The enchantress opens up and tells her story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s the second part to the Enchanted Forest chapter. A little short, but I thought that better than the previous chapter being too long.  
TBH, this might be how I post the rest of the story—each part broken into two or three chapters—because some of the upcoming chapters are long.
> 
> Let me know what you think about the story. Leave a comment or kudos.

“This is not a tale I have ever told before,” she started, keeping her eyes solely on Grace, “so you must excuse me if I cannot tell it well.”

“It’s alright, Willow,” Grace muttered with a smile. Her small smile spurred the enchantress to begin her recollection. Antoinette hopped at the bottom of the bed, the mattress now crowded with an audience the woman was not expecting. She took a moment to gather her thoughts and the words to properly convey her story.

“In a distant time, long past and forgotten, three sisters lived with their father in a small town near a cliff overlooking the sea. The eldest was a girl with a free spirit and a wild beauty who danced with the wind upon the cliffs and jumped into the sea below to feel the freedom of flight. The youngest was chaotic in nature, one moment calm and the next besieged by a tempestuous rage. And she dearly loved to sing with the gulls and soak her feet in the soft lapping waves of the ocean pools.” The woman took a brief pause, glancing at Jefferson through the corner of her eye. The awe was apparent on his face as she continued her tale. “The middle sister was quiet and reserved. She took refuge in the safety and protection of the forest, often falling asleep under a blanket of leaves and in the serenity of the trees.

“These sisters loved each other dearly as well as their father. He protected them, supported them, and indulged in their fiercer qualities without spoiling them. Until the day he died and could no longer act as their guide and guardian.” She paused after hearing a soft gasp from Grace. The enchantress wiped away a tear forming in her eye and asked quietly, “may I continue?” Grace nodded enthusiastically, without a wink of sleepiness in her gaze. “The sisters continued to dance with the wind, sing with the sea, and sleep with the earth as years passed and they matured to adulthood. Their town understood these wild, but peaceful sisters. Others, however, in distant villages, heard about the strange behavior of these women and did not. In a time where magic was feared, whispers spread that those sisters were witches communing with unholy power. Anger and paranoia followed. And one night, late in the summer, a group of men traveled to the village and to the house of the three sisters. In their fear, the sisters fled, splitting from each other as they sought safety.

“The eldest sought safety by the cliffs, the youngest fled to a cave near the shore, and the middle to the cover of the forest. But still the men chased them until they were dealt with—to rid the area of their magic.” She took a deep breath, the telling of her story unearthing emotions she thought long resolved. “The demise of these three sisters was not pleasant, nor was it just. For they possessed no magic. They only felt a deep affinity toward their natural world, seeking to show their gratitude to it. But for the ignorant mob who cut them down, they were misjudged and destroyed.”

The enchantress wiped away the tear forming in her eye once more and looked down to Grace. The young girl slipped her hand into the woman’s.

“Is that how the story ends?” Grace asked in a quiet voice. The enchantress shook her head and drew in a deep, steady breath to calm her emotions.

“No,” the woman muttered. “For the sisters so loved nature and it’s many miracles, and loved it so dearly and purely, that the universe cradled them in its arms and granted the sisters freedom over its domains. They were given real magic, a token to bring them life eternal and a chance to be happy as they had never experienced before.

“The eldest, who so loved the expansive blue sky, was granted the magic to flit about in the air with the birds and clouds. She watches the world from above as it turns and changes. The youngest, who loved the open sea, was granted the magic to swim to the darkest depth and explore underwater kingdoms. She discovers hidden delights that no man will ever see.”

“And the middle sister? What became of her?” Jefferson asked. The enchantress snapped her attention to him. Her focus finally fully on him since the moment he found her devastated form in the forest. Curiosity flashed in his eyes, but also deep concern and empathy. A sad smile quirked at her lips as she turned back to the young girl and her story.

“The middle sister was embraced by the earth and given magic to help her live out her days in peace and harmony. She lived in the forest, taking care of animals and granting blessings and misfortune to those who deserved it. A quiet, solitary life that suited her for many centuries as she wandered throughout distant lands and ventured across various domains.” The enchantress stopped to brace herself for the next part of her story.

“Until she found a lone tower in the middle of a forest and ascended to see what lived within. She found a young girl, with beautiful auburn hair that draped down her back and dragged one hundred feet across the floor. A kind smile and joyful disposition ensnared the attention of the middle sister—now an experienced witch of the earth—until she fell in love. But the maiden was trapped—her mother set on protecting her daughter from the deceit and cruelty of the world. The sorceress continued to visit the maiden, giving tokens of affection and glimpses to the outside world. An admiration formed between the two women as the years passed. Then one day, the middle sister visited her love to find the maiden had left.” The enchantress’s voice broke over the word, tears forming heavy in her eyes. “And…and her love was all for naught but a broken heart and an empty, eternal stretch of existence.” The enchantress covered her eyes, her tears overtaking her voice and spilling down her cheeks.

Grace wrapped her arms tight around the woman’s waist. A warm arm pulled the enchantress toward a strong chest. A hand brushed through her hair in a soothing gesture as the enchantress cried and mourned the loss of her potential love. The three sat in silence as they embraced one another. Her breathing calmed and she pulled away from the warm arms encircling her.

“And now, the rest of my days will be spent alone,” the enchantress concluded with a sniff. Her puffy red cheeks stung from the tears, the skin feeling tight across her bones. She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “I apologize for intruding on your hospitality. If it pleases you, I will take my leave in the morning.” Antoinette growled low and rolling as her eyes flashed. The enchantress glared back just as fiercely to her companion.

“It does not please me that you think we will be letting you leave in the morning,” Jefferson grumbled. “You will stay with us until time heals your wounds.”

“I’m not injured,” the enchantress insisted.

“Not all wounds are to our body,” Grace interjected. “When Mama died, Papa and I both needed time to heal together.” The enchantress blinked in shock as she searched for the right way to respond.

“It is easier to digest and overcome your feelings when you have someone to rely on,” Jefferson added. His hand crept into the woman’s as they stayed on the bed by Grace. “Let us help you.”

The enchantress looked at his hand encircling hers before drawing her gaze to look into Jefferson’s eyes. His eyes bore into her own with an earnestness she couldn’t fathom. A harsh, nervous gulp bobbed in her throat as she agreed to their offer with a nod of her head.

A smile broke over Jefferson’s features like the sun breaking through the clouds of a rainy day as he crooned, “Then welcome home, Willow.”


	14. Burning Fire (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monty talks to Lee and makes a decision that turns out to have some great perks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Storybrooke chapter, just as a heads up.
> 
> Chapter warning: This chapter is steamy. No explicit smut, but definitive implications and descriptions of actions leading to and throughout the act of sex. This is as close as I felt comfortable getting to an explicit sex scene at this point and is the most mature this story gets, really, as far as sexual situations go. 
> 
> And this is another two-parter. So second part will be uploaded quickly after this one.

“Earth to Lee!” Monty’s fingers snap in front of my eyes. I jolt and focus on the man in front of me. An amused smile sits on his lips. “You were about to burn your hair.” He gestures to the ends of my hair, swinging uncomfortably close to the flame of my Miners’ Day candle. With the blackout during the festival, everyone held their own light sources as they chatted and milled around the booths.

Monty insisted that I attend with him to find some interesting tchotchkes to buy from the vendors. In fact, he insists I attend the festival with him _every_ year. This year was no different as he accosted me after I closed my shop in the evening—forcing me to attend without a choice.

“What’s got you in a tizzy, girl?” he asks as he loops his arm through mine. We pass by people enjoying the evening. They smile and nod in congenial greeting.

I sigh, “I don’t really know. I’ve just been feeling so tired lately—worn out and just completely out of sorts.” We stop at a booth selling handcrafted jewelry. My fingers land on a necklace featuring a rough cut stone of some sort. “Don’t worry about me,” I insist. The look I receive in response from Monty has me shrugging and turning my face away.

“Look, Lee,” Monty grabs my hand away from the necklace as he draws me around the tent stall for some privacy. “You need to give yourself a break. You work more than full time for your shop, plus keeping your social life alive and spending time with your boyfriend. You’re going to burn out if you’re not careful.” I roll my eyes at him before starting to pull away. “Don’t go brushing me off, Lee.”

“I’ll be fine, Monty. I’m just in a funk. It will pass, it always does,” I reply. But Monty does not let it rest as I walk away. He follows me and links his arm in mine.

“You are not on your own anymore. Not as much as you used to be,” he insists as he walks me around the festival. “You have an important person in your life outside of your usual family and friends—a significant other. You’ve never had one of them before.” He stops to turn toward me so he can look into my eyes. “You know I’m just concerned about your wellbeing and your happiness.”

I smile and nod before conceding, “It might be time for me to find some employees to work in the shop so I have more time to myself.” Monty smiles, pleased at my response. “I’ll put an advertisement into the paper tomorrow and a sign in my shop window.”

The two of us continue to walk around the festival with our candles, greeting people we know and enjoying ourselves as the night drags on. Without realizing it, I had missed being out and about town, being social with people. As the night concludes, I sincerely thank Monty and head home with a smile on my face. Before my head hits the pillow, I draft an ad for the newspaper on my laptop. My eyes drift closed with a smile on my face.

And about a week passes with interviews and regular business before I find myself seated behind the counter of my shop, twiddling my thumbs. My eyes stay glued to the clock as each slow minute ticks by and I wait for the moment when I can leave my store. Caroline, a girl I hired to be the manager when I am away, putters around, helping me take inventory and help customers. Hiring a couple new workers for my store had been Monty’s idea, but it sure turned out to be a good one. I had considered it before, yet never committed to it. Being with Jefferson only pushed me forward to actually putting out an ad in the Daily Mirror, like my friend suggested. Though it poses new challenges like scheduling, it relieves some of the workload and I can actually begin to live my life. The weight off my shoulders floods me with relief.

“Hey, Lee,” Caroline chimes as she approaches the counter. “I was wondering if I could switch weekends with you next week. My grandmother’s birthday is being celebrated that Saturday and I want to be there.” She smiles and I nod my head.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” I reply. She’s younger, but a good worker and trustworthy—I know I can rely to her to take the weekend shifts and she’ll pick up any slack she leaves when she needs to take a day off. Letting her switch one weekend will not ruin anything. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll add it to the schedule.”

“Thank you!” she says excitedly as she grasps her hands in front of her chest. Her eyes glance at the clock. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She gestures behind me at the clock on the wall. She giggles as she walks around the store for a moment finishing the inventory.

I smile and run to the back to grab my things, waving goodbye as I leave through the front door and head toward my car. My car has been getting much more use recently to drive to and from Jefferson’s mansion. The way his eyes light up every time I pull in his driveway turns my knees to jelly. I bite my lip in anticipation. The familiar road twists and turns as I drive along, slightly accelerating over the speed limit.

Jefferson isn’t expecting me today, I just want to surprise him and spend time with him. Something deep in my gut is draws me to him, to his house, to his side. The way he makes me feel when I’m with him—a girl could get addicted. The time apart aches, though we’ve been talking every day, something deep inside me misses him and needs more.

I place my car in park and yank my keys out of the ignition. Before I even open my car and turn my body toward the front door, Jefferson is already standing there with a smile on his face and a gleam in his eyes.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you sweetheart?” He asks as I jump out of my car and run up the steps to embrace him. My hands clutch at the front of his shirt as his arms wrap around me. I sigh at the contact and hum in pleasure.

“You saying you want me to go?” I ask with a smirk that I press into the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. His arms tighten around me, pressing me closer.

“Now why would I ever say a thing like that?” He chuckles and draws me into his home, divesting me of my jacket and guiding me to where he wants me. I giggle and follow every prod and direction he gives.

We end up in a cozy den, cuddled together on his couch. My back leans against the cushions, my body spanning the length of the couch. He keeps himself positioned over me—his head rests on my breasts, his breath tickling my skin as he trace patterns over my sides. My hands weave through his hair, brushing through it and occasionally tugging lightly when it strikes my fancy.

“What do I owe the pleasure of this surprise?” he asks as his body relaxes into mine. He places a kiss on my chest right above the neckline leading to my cleavage.

My body rattles with a chuckle as I ask, “What? I gotta have a reason to miss the man I love?” My fingers stop combing through his hair as he lifts his head to lock eyes with me.

“You love me?” His eyes sparkle as he looks up at me. I lean as best I can to brush my lips over his as I nod. With an elated huff, his smile breaks over his face. He props himself up and scoots until he looms over me, resting his weight on forearms that cage me in.

His lips descend to claim mine. I reach my hands up to tangle in his hair, but he holds them away and entwines our fingers together. My legs spread open so he can slot his hips closer to mine. I sigh. He releases my lips and my hands so he can trail a path of fire down my body. His lips worry over my neck and a whimper escapes my lips with an uncontrollable buck of my hips. He grinds down in response and my eyes close as liquid fire pools in my core. The hardness of his need pulses and twitches as he grinds against me once more. His fingertips trace my curves as he sits up on his knees and pulls my thighs to wrap around his waist. My ankles lock behind him and try to pull him forward, wanting infinitely more of him.

His eyes observe me, tracing my form from head to toe. One of his hands reaches up to push the loose sleeve of my shirt from one of shoulders to fall limply away. His fingers trace a singular spot on my neck—the spot he sucked with his plush lips, a spot where I know he will have marked me with his teeth. My skirt falls around my waist, barely covering the place between my thighs that throbs at the intensity of his stare. My breaths tear out of my lungs in pants that will not calm. I look at him, in his pristine condition—completely put together aside from kiss bitten lips—while I must look thoroughly debauched. My hand reaches to brush my hair back from my eyes. The muscles of his jaw clench as he leans his hips away.

“Oh, babygirl,” he croons as his hands run up my inner thighs. A quiet mewl escapes my lips as I feel my body twitch in response. He chuckles at my reaction and presses a kiss high up on my right thigh, the hem of my underwear brushing his lips. “I’m gonna take such good care of you.”

The smirk on his lips sends a jolt of need to my core as I try to push my torso up to clash our lips together—my hand extending to wrap around the back of his neck. He avoids my reach and kisses my palm with a wink. He positions me, completely at his mercy. Hands peel away the clothing that obstructs his view, his fingers grazing trails of fire on their journey of exploring my skin. His stare devours me. And I let my body be consumed.

He uses his lips, his tongue, his fingers, his cock in the pursuit of my utter ruination. His mouth utters absolute filth that filters past my ears and blankets my body in syrupy need and desire. Moans and whimpers break past my lips—but no words form, save for his name and broken pleas, as the entire lexicon of the English language escapes me.

As I shut my eyes to try to ground myself to a reality outside of him, he growls and commands my gaze to return. And I fall apart again and again.

With his breaths as stuttered as his hips, he marks my body inside and out. In a panting heap, he lays atop me as we catch our breath. We clean ourselves up and drift off to sleep on the couch, entangled together as he whispers sweet words of praise in my ears.


	15. Ice Cold (2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is part two of the latest Storybrooke chapter. 
> 
> Chapter warnings: This chapter talks about Jefferson and his stalking behaviors. If that’s upsetting to you, please don’t read.

I wake in the early morning with Jefferson’s form attached tightly to my back. The now familiar, pleasant ache between my legs brings a smile to my face as I shift around carefully. My love sleeps deeply beside me as I turn to gaze at his face. I bite my lip before leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. The muscles of his face barely twitch in response.

I stand, dress myself, and exit the den in pursuit of the master bathroom. A smile stays stuck to my lips as I walk on slightly unsteady legs through his maze-like hallways—like a baby deer taking its first steps. I giggle at the thought. My arms pull myself completely upright in a doorway, feeling drunk on love and the euphoria coursing through my veins.

Through the doorway, a dark room greets me. My eyes immediately catch the two telescopes propped in their stands by the large windows. I look behind me, in search of any indication that Jefferson is awake, before entering the room. With curiosity completely controlling my actions, I walk to the first telescope.

After looking through the lens, my head pops up in confusion. The angle looks directly at my store window. Caroline stands behind the counter sorting through some shirts. My eyes stray to the second telescope. Trepidation rises in my gut as I walk to look through the glass. My mind, still hazy, tries to think of a reason why his second telescope would point toward the window into my bedroom at my apartment.

I back away slowly as my head shakes. Surely I was imagining things. Jefferson wouldn’t watch me like that. I probably tipped the telescopes from their intended trajectory.

Yeah, that must be it.

I close the door tightly behind me and step down the hallway at a fast pace. My feet carry me to the end where another door remains open.

The glimpse of another telescope catches my attention. I step inside with one foot, but debate stepping in further. Do I want to know? I look behind me once more before I push all doubt aside and stride confidently to look through the scope.

The schoolyard is empty. I stand back straight as I bite my lip. Jefferson must have a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe a coping mechanism for how isolated his home was. I let the thought tumble through my brain. A coping mechanism—a creepy coping mechanism.

My feet stumble out of the room, less euphoric than before. More distressed and shaken—my stability crumbling beneath me like an avalanche. I stalk down the hallways, now, looking for another telescope in every room—hoping that one will provide some sort of solid explanation for their existence.

I push the door open to a room with fabric and hats. A smile breaks over my lips despite my inner turmoil as my fingers caress the soft velvet of a top hat. I look around and find another telescope. Whether relief or dread churns through my gut, I swallow back bile and approach the stand to look. It looks at the window of a house, toward a dining room that seems familiar from the narrow perspective.

My sister blows into the room, gathering things into a bag as she chatters on her phone. Grace follows after her with her backpack slung over one shoulder. A strangled noise between a gasp and a scream tears out of my throat as I scramble back from the telescope. My feet stumble over something on the floor as shock courses through my veins. Completely sober from any lingering hazy endorphins, I realize that strong arms grasp my waist to prevent my fall.

The two of us stay in our positions for what feels like an eternity—time slugging by on disjointed ticks of the clock. His breath comes in pants as he presses against my back. His thumb caresses my hip in a bid to calm me. But my mind and heart race nonetheless. I try to keep my own steady—breathing through my mouth until my mind can realign and function normally.

“You should be careful,” Jefferson mutters as he helps me right my body. His lips brushing against my shoulder in the process. “I don’t want you to get hurt.” His arms stay firmly wrapped around me and I can’t breath as we look at each other face to face.

I rip away from his hold, trying to find air in the room to pull into my lungs. But no matter how hard I try, it doesn’t seem to work until I put enough distance between him and me.

“Wha—” the word gets caught in my throat as anxiety and despair bubbles in me. “What the hell is _that_?” I point to the telescope with a shaking finger. I can’t bear to bring my eyes to look at him as my mind races through every worst case scenario.

He has been watching me. There is no denying it now. But much worse—he has been watching Paige. I try to calm my breathing, but have a difficult time as I finally look over at him.

“I’m watching out for my family,” he replies as he walks forward, capturing my arms in his grip before I can pull away. I struggle to free myself as he holds me and tries to bring my body closer. “You, me, Grace—we’re a family. The curse took it away. You just need to remember. But it can be just the three of us again. Once the curse is broken—” He pulls me closer and moves his hands to grip my face tightly and press his lips to mine. My face scrunches as I struggle against his grip. A screech gurgles in my throat and pushes against his lips. Angry tears flood my eyes, but I hold them at bay.

I force myself away from him and to the hallway, racing toward the front door and away from him. My heart beats rapidly in my chest as I listen to the thump of his footsteps chasing after me.

“Lee, you don’t understand yet,” he pleads at my retreating figure. Catching up slowly—his pace stilted and confusion prominent on his face. ”But please, just stay. I can explain. You’re mine and I’m yours and we can all be together again. You, me, Grace—just like we’re supposed to be. I just need to make it work.” I glance back at him and see the tears in his eyes. His eyes red-rimmed and his lips quivering and downturned.

I reach the handle of the front door, but he’s right behind me, turning my body around and grasping my hands to kiss my fingers as he begs. He sinks to his knees, kissing my knuckles, my hips, my stomach as he whispers his pleas. I roll my eyes toward the ceiling begging for strength as I rip my hands from his grip.

“You—” my voice cracks, “You stay away from me. Stay away from Paige and my family. I never want to see you again.” I push the words through my gritted teeth as I keep my eyes away from him. “I am not yours, you are not mine. You’re a stalker and if I ever see you near anyone I hold dear, I will not hesitate to report you to the sheriff.” I push the door open behind me while grabbing my keys and purse from the table by the door.

The cold morning air greets me, but I don’t return for my coat and simply slip into the drivers’ seat of my car. I can’t resist turning my gaze back to his form, hunched on his knees in the open doorway. His body wracks with sobs as he looks up to me, his heartbroken gaze imploring me to come back—to not do this. My stomach jolts to my throat with a queasy, gut-wrenching twist that begs my legs to run to him. My arms ache as I grip my steering wheel, longing for his embrace. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and start my car. I leave him.

He’s insane, he needs help—it becomes my mantra as I drive away. I park on the street near my apartment and turn off my car. For a moment I sit, before a tidal wave of emotion courses through me. I scream and beat my hands against the steering wheel as tears drip from my eyes. I made such a grave error and now if my family gets hurt, that will be on my shoulders. I let an unstable man into my life and it might affect us all. And yet every cell in my body pleads with my brain to turn around, to drive back to him and sink into his delusions. Despite this dark energy that twists around his mind, I want him.

But the thought of Paige being dragged into his delusions—I burst through my car door and heave in the street. My breath shakes as my lungs drag it rapidly through my body. I close my eyes to help me focus, but it takes a while until my breathing becomes easier.

Eventually I calm myself enough to emerge from my car and walk into my building. My ascent up the stairs to my loft feels like climbing Mount Everest as I debate if each step up is worth the effort. I fumble through my bag for my keys and drop them on the floor. My knees collapse under me and my falling weight thumps on impact. I don’t quite feel the pain of the fall as I kneel there. My door opens in front of me as I remain on the ground. Bleary eyes glance up to see a familiar figure in my doorway. I wipe my eyes on my sleeves as inconspicuously as possible.

“Oh, hey Lee. I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, so I was just getting Marie her breakfast.” Kristen looks down at me from my doorway. Her hand clenches around the frame as her head tilts to examine me. “Is everything alright?” She kneels in front of me and gently takes my bag and keys from my hands, flinging them gently into my apartment.

I shake my head and sniff forcefully to clear my airway. I croak out some syllables, but can’t seem to form words. So I just shake my head and bury my face in my hands.

Her fingers wrap around my wrists as she pulls them away. She tucks my hair behind my ears and brushes her thumbs across my cheekbones to clear away my tears. She gazes into my eyes—a soft expression that sends a pang through my heart. I breathe shakily as she stands and offers her hand to assist me off of the floor. I stand in front of her with my eyes downcast as she steps closer and lifts my gaze to hers once again.

“Let me take care of you,” she coos as her arm slips around my waist and she guides me into my apartment. I lean into her touch and try to push Jefferson firmly away from my mind and my heart.

It doesn’t work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, the relationship with Lee and Jefferson is not healthy in Storybrooke. He’s been watching her and manipulating her emotions since the beginning in the hopes of recouping what he lost in the curse. Their relationship was healthy in the Enchanted Forest. And any continuance of the relationship will be through understanding what was wrong with his actions. His behaviors are not okay. I just wanted to make that clear. But at the same time, looking at his character, I do not find him irredeemable. So just some things to think about as the story continues.


	16. When the Queen Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willow sees Jefferson struggle with the queen’s offer, but is drawn away. When she returns, nothing is the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last Enchanted Forest chapter, so that’s sort of an indication that this story is heading toward wrapping up. There are maybe two or three more chapters left in the story.

The enchantress stalked through the enchanted forest, blending with the trees and foliage surrounding her. She listened intently to the persuasions of the universe, altered her course and disappeared in a mist to fly to Jefferson’s cottage.

Months had passed since her heart had broken in the absence of Rapunzel’s affection. But life continued forward. She stayed in the hospitality of the small family for a time. Her duties, however, drew her away after a while—the universe calling upon her to travel and disguise herself, bestow blessings and curses. It remained her nature, so she followed it. But always returned to the cottage—her, dare she say, home.

As she appeared in the forest around her home, Grace ran to her, tackling her in an embrace.

“Willow,” the girl whispered with concern. “The queen is here. Papa is speaking to her, but I’m afraid.” The enchantress looked toward the little cottage in the distance—the carriage sitting idle.

“Stay hidden,” she bid Grace as she ventured forward. Twigs snapped under her feet as she warily made her way to the door. As it swung open, the enchantress hid from the queen behind a tree. The woman stormed away, her smug expression bittered by disappointment. The carriage wheels jolted to start and clattered far away before the enchantress dared to reveal herself.

The cottage was silent as Jefferson stood in contemplation with his back to the door.

“Don’t listen to her,” the enchantress whispered. “However she tempts you, it is not worth it.” Jefferson jumped and spun around with a weary smile pasted on his face.

“Welcome home,” he replied. “I know what is important. Don’t worry, Willow.” They stood together for a moment, silent. The enchantress was not too sure of the man’s conviction. There was a debate warring in his eyes. Then he clapped his hands together, a more jovial expression overtaking his face. “Now to find Grace.”

The enchantress flung open her cloak to release Antoinette while asking, “Like a game? I’m afraid I may have an advantage.” She chuckled under her breath as she accompanied the father out of the cottage toward the woods.

Antoinette skittered off in the underbrush, concealed by the foliage as she sought out the child herself. Jefferson and Willow looked around behind trees and roots.

“Now, no cheating,” Jefferson playfully chided as he crept up behind the enchantress. His fingertips brushed against her shoulders and across the back of her neck. She shivered in response and batted at his hand with a smile on her face.

“I would never,” she admonished with a smirk. They trailed through the leaves underfoot as they continued to walk and search for Grace. The sun shone down on them through the soft veil of the tree branches. They teased one another as they walked with a play at competition, but neither were committed to the game—focused on enjoying the day and the company while searching for the girl.

A rustle in a bush beside them drew Willow’s attention. She turned and gestured to her companion. The man approached the bush, drawing back the branches to reveal Antoinette curled protectively around Grace. The girl beamed up at her father.

“Papa! You found me,” she cried as she reached her arms up for her father to carry her away.

“It seems Antoinette won our game,” the enchantress observed. “I wonder if that victory counts in my favor.” The smile on his lips greatly diminished the glare Jefferson sent her way. The enchantress rolled her eyes and ruffled the girl’s hair as they trekked back toward the cozy cottage.

“What did the queen want?” Grace asked as her father set her down inside. She looked around, her eyes searching for something amiss—a change in her home.

“It’s not important,” Jefferson replied with an easy smile on his lips. “But I believe that Willow is here for your tea party.” He gestured to the woman as he dragged over a short table to the middle of the room.

Grace’s bright shining eyes gleamed up at Willow as she inquired, “Really?” Her body bounced on her toes as she held her hands above her heart, clenched in anticipation for the answer.

The enchantress tucked a stray strand of hair behind the girl’s ear with a smile and an enthusiastic nod. “If that is your plan for this afternoon, then I believe I was sent here to participate, if you will have me.”

Grace squealed in delight and immediately began to gather her much-loved, less-than-perfect toys to set up around her tea set. Jefferson smiled over at the two as he sat in his place at the table next to a strange looking tortoise. The enchantress sat across from him as he dragged a box of a small tea set and began to put the cups and tea pot on the table at their places.

“No!” Grace insisted, stomping purposefully to the table. “You must sit next to Papa. That chair is for Antoinette.” Grace finished arranging her toys and led the leopard to the table. The large cat snuffed at the enchantress’s position before the woman relented.

“Alright, I suppose.” Willow stood and moved, sitting in the small seat next to Jefferson. The wooden chair rocked on uneven feet as she sat on it. Her arms reached out to grab at a stable surface. Jefferson’s arm wrapped around her waist to steady her as the chair found its balance under her—making her lean more into his arms. He smiled over at her with a deep fondness in his eyes as she gently broke his hold and sat up properly. His hand reached out to rest gently atop the enchantress’s on the edge of the table. The squeeze of reassurance brought a smile to the woman’s face.

Grace smiled over at them and began the tea party with a clap of her hands. Jefferson and Grace filled the afternoon tea party with stories and songs—Willow observing and participating with a smile on her face. The girl served the tea to each of her guests and small delicacies made of air.

By the time the sun sunk behind the horizon and the night crept in, the enchantress wondered at how much this small family meant to her—more than anything else that existed in the universe apart from Antoinette, this family inhabited a small, sacred place in her heart.

Drawing the curtain around the small cot set aside for her, the enchantress smiled at the placement of the strange tortoise on her pillow. Antoinette leapt upon the bed and curled tightly at the foot.

Willow smoothed the blanket and sat at the edge of the cot. Minutes ticked by as her body slowly laid down on the mattress beneath her. Before sleep could overtake her senses, a small rustle beyond her curtain caught her attention. She stood smoothly and peeked around the hanging fabric.

Jefferson stood before the window, arms crossed over his chest and brows furrowed in concentration. The moonlight shone through reflecting like a stormy sea in his eyes. His fingers cradled his chin and beat an imprecise rhythm on his lips as he thought. His waistcoat gone, and shirt nearly undone, his disheveled state unnerved Willow as she watched him—though for what reason she couldn’t understand as her heart fluttered.

The enchantress approached. Her soft footsteps broke his concentration. His eyes lit upon her and the stormy sea calmed. Her fluttering heart did not.

“What are you doing up so late?” he inquired with a smile that seemed too heavy on his face. He ran a hand through his hair and turned to lean sideways against the windowsill. His feigned nonchalance did not reflect in the exhaustion of his eyes.

“I could ask the same of you,” the woman easily replied. One arm crossed behind her body to grasp the opposite elbow as she took a tentative step forward. Her head cocked to the side, trying to read the expression on his face.

“My mind won’t stop,” he bit his lip as he searched for the word that fit best, “contemplating. All I think of is Grace and what I should be giving her.” A sigh pushed past his lips as he angled his head away and his eyes brushed across the room of his home.

“And what the queen offered,” the enchantress added with suspicion in her tone. She scowled and bit her tongue for a moment to pull together her thoughts. She approached the last few steps and stood beside Jefferson, her elbow brushing his as he adjusted his stance and she crossed her arms over her stomach. They both turned toward the window to look out into the darkness as if it held the answers to their conundrum.

The silence stretched between them for a minute. Crickets chirped in the darkness outside. But even the universe remained quiet in the enchantress’s ear. With a deep breath she asked, “Do you love your daughter? Do you make her smile?”

“You know Grace means everything to me.” Jefferson turned to the enchantress with wide pleading eyes. A hint of desperate insistence lurked under his strong words as his arms dropped to his sides. His fingers brushed against her arm—she couldn’t tell if the caress were intentional or not.

“Then how can you question yourself?” The enchantress dropped her arms and turned as well. Her finger pointed at him accusingly, “The queen is tying to trick you by playing into your doubt—you know this and still you insist on self-deprecation and folly. You give your daughter everything she needs.” The woman reached out a hand to grasp Jefferson’s arm in her fingertips. A jolt made her hesitate before her fingers enclosed on his arm, his muscles tense.

“Not everything.” His eyes turned back toward the moonlight before falling to the floor. He shifted on his feet and his hands fell to the windowsill. His arm withdrew from her contact and Willow sighed quietly.

“Well, she needs you most of all,” the enchantress insisted. One of her hands reached out, paused, before falling over his. “So you need to stay with her. No matter what.” The woman stayed silent for a moment contemplating the implications of her next statement. “And I will be here when you need me. Always.”

His eyes lifted from the floor, examining the enchantress’s face. His gaze flit from her eyes to her lips and all around her before returning her stare. His hand raised a centimeter per heartbeat—the moment caught in molasses as it stretched in slow motion. Willow swallowed audibly. He whispered her name like a prayer.

Before the force of the universe physically pulled the enchantress away. It pushed her across the floor to the curtain and the cot. Antoinette stalked forward and disappeared into her cloak as if summoned herself.

“I—” the word choked out of Willow’s mouth like a cough. The woman crumpled forward at the force of the pull. “Something is happening, I-I don’t understand,” the words whispered past her lips. “I must go.” She used the wall to pull herself back toward the window, muscles straining with the effort. With one hand gripping the windowsill, the enchantress stood beside Jefferson once more and pulled a ragged breath into her lungs. “I’m sorry,” she pleaded as she reached out and brought one of his hands toward her face. Her lips hovered over his appendage, contemplating a kiss for a silent moment. She inched her face forward until her lips lightly brushed his knuckles. “Stay strong and I will return to protect you both.” Her eyes, wide and honest, met his before her body dissolved into mist and flew away on a breeze out the crack of the window.

She rematerialized far off in a forest clearing. Her knees met the soft earth as her body lurched forward with the force of her travel. Willow’s eyes scanned the area around her with trepidation.

“Well, hello, dearie,” A familiar voice echoed around her.

The murmur of the universe began to roar in the enchantress’s ear as her eyes rose to look at Rumplestiltskin. He stood before her, flourishing a hand in her direction. Willow stood and fought against the beating pulse of the universe rattling her mind.

“What is your plan, Dark One?” she asked as her arm clutched her waist and her body slumped forward.

“I don’t have any idea what you mean,” he replied with a flick of his wrist and a chortle of manic glee.

Willow heaved out a breath from her lips before choking out the words, “the universe is screaming of disaster.” Her hand shook as it clutched at her temple. “There is dark magic at work and you are behind it.”

“Well, well,” Rumplestiltskin’s smile dropped from his face in an instant. His eyes squinted in an insectile leer. “Perhaps you should get your ears checked. I am not doing anything.” His finger stabbed in her direction. Willow held the instinctual flinch at bay and disregarded her fear. She took a bold step forward.

“But you are behind it.” She took another step, beginning to circle the Dark One. ”Your hands hold the puppet strings that plague our land with a future of destruction and misery.”

“And you’re here to stop me,” he continued in accusation. The enchantress’s hand fell from her head as the universe quieted to a low murmur.

She shook her head clearing the residual ringing, “No. I don’t—” A rabbit hopped into the clearing and sat at Willow’s feet. It’s body stretched up to lean against the woman’s leg. “Grace,” she muttered in terror under her breath. A new roar began in her head, but the universe stayed silent—the blood rushing through her veins deafening. She reached out a hand and clasped it tight around Rumplestiltskin’s wrist. “Come with me.”

He opened his mouth to protest, excuses pouring out of his lips like bile. But the enchantress didn’t listen. She only hooked her magic into him, taking them both on a breeze back to the cottage where Grace stood in the doorway.

“Grace?” She rushed forward, falling to her knees before the young girl. “What has happened? Where’s your father?”

The young girl’s eyes filled with tears as she spoke of her father taking her to market, running an errand, and failing to return. Willow’s mind flew at a million thoughts a second. Images flashed before her eyes as understanding dawned on her. She stood and wrapped the girl in her arms, drawing her close to the protection and safety of her body. A sigh to the heavens escaped her lips before she glanced to ensure Rumplestiltskin’s presence.

“Grace, go inside the cottage, please,” she requested as her eyes looked down at the scared girl before her. Grace silently nodded and went inside. Willow released Antoinette to trail after the girl for comfort. The woman turned back to the Dark One as she squared her shoulders.

He stood with his back leaning on a tree, a strangely bemused expression drawing his lips into a tight grin. At Willow’s approach, he stood straight as a manic chuckle spilled from his lips.

“So you want to make a deal now, dearie?” His hands flourished about as he circled the woman before him. “But how do you know you have something I want?” His fingers traced over her shoulder in a chilling caress. A shiver ran down the enchantress’s spine.

“All magic comes with a price,” she conceded, knowing his mantra like a tingling thorn piercing her side. Her hands shook. She clenched them into fists to stop it—her nails puncturing into her palm.

“Name your desire, then,” Rumplestiltskin said with clipped syllables. “Not all of us have time to flitter around the forest on a whim, dearie.” The annoyance and impatience slowly overtook his features as he stopped just before the enchantress.

“I know you are the orchestrator behind the coming disaster,” Willow spat through clenched teeth, “though you may deny it until your last heartbeat.”

“Your price,” he barked his deep tone reverberating through her like a wave.

“I want to protect Grace.” Willow held out her hand, blood trickling over her finger. “I want your blood oath that through whatever happens—whatever your plans—I can be by her side to look after her.” Rumplestiltskin looked at her palm, his eyes scanning over the iridescent crimson dripping to the forest floor in contemplation.

“You won’t try to stop me,” he asked as his finger flourished through the air in a contemplative gesture.

“That is not the deal I am making,” Willow replied easily. “And I will exchange this as payment.” Her free hand reached up to untie the cloak from her neck, the material pooling on the dirt and leaves below her feet.

“I thought you said that your cloak would do me no good. Seems like you’re changing your tune now that you need something from me,” he said cocking his head to the side—his eyes drawn to the cloak as it lay on the floor.

“I said it would not help you, that is true,” she conceded. “But you have always thought my cloak to be the source of my power, I think.” She started circling on her own, leaving the cloak directly in front of the Dark One. His eyes stayed transfixed on the fabric, covetously ogling it on the ground. Her soft, seductive voice flowed like a summer breeze through the forrest, “Accept my offer, make the blood oath, and you can discover for yourself the magic it can channel.”

Rumplestiltskin contemplated her words for only a moment before responding, “You have a deal.” He drew a cut on his palm with a blade from his pocket and grasped her outstretched hand.

The magic sang through their veins as the blood flowed and created a promise unbreakable by any magic. Willow stumbled back a step as he released her and healed his own wound. In a flash of smoke, he vanished taking her cloak with him.

Willow turned in a circle, eyes searching the forest around her before turning back to the cottage where Grace and Antoinette waited for her. Though her steps dragged on the floor and her head felt too heavy for her body, she walked through the door of the cottage with promises to take care of Grace until her father returned.

As time passed, the universe called and drew her toward various locations to continue her work, but the dull murmur could be easily ignored in favor of keeping her promise to Grace. They found a compatible way of life that catered to their needs and kept them safe.

When the smoky, rolling clouds of green and black magic descended to devour the land, Grace remained securely in the protection of Willow’s arms—even as they both were swallowed whole.


	17. Move On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life moves along and Lee tries to move along with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storybrooke chapter. About two more after and the story will be complete.

“So, Lee, tell me how you have been doing. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

My eyes glance around the office, the organized clutter that lines the desk and covers the flat surfaces. The earthy tones that the sunlight catches through the windows. My nails run over the fabric of the couch as I avoid looking at the man sitting across from me.

“I’ve been dealing with a lot and I think that I need help understanding,” I respond, still refusing to look at Archie as he sits with his notepad on his lap. His eyes scan over me, waiting for more elucidation. I pull a deep breath into my lungs. “Since the last time I saw you, a lot of…events have happened.”

A calm smile spreads over his lips, “Yes, our sleepy town has certainly become much more lively. I mean, with the mine collapse and the sheriff election—”

I shake my head, cutting off his train of thought, “I don’t care about any of that. I just—” I run my hand over my hair as I finally look up from the floor.

“It’s okay, Lee, take your time.” His eyes land on my hand where I start kneading them together in my lap.

Silence settles in the room as I contemplate how much to divulge of the past months after I had last seen him. I inhale deeply and let it out in a sigh through my nose before my lips part, “Everything with my business and my family has been alright,” I pause before adding the caveat, “mostly.” I look up to Archie, but he seems to be listening and disinclined to interrupt. “My store is business as usual. I hired a few workers, though, to help take the pressure off. They’ve been very trustworthy and have been working hard. My sister and her family are doing well. I haven’t seen much of them in the most recent weeks.” My lungs pull in a deep breath as my sentence trails off. Unbidden tears pool in my eyes and I sniff until they recede. “I haven’t had time to feel my usual crippling loneliness. And I’ve only had one really bad day since I saw you last.” I shrug.

“Would you like to explain more about that?” Archie’s voice pipes up as he notices my spiel drawing to a close.

“I wasn’t really lonely because I wasn’t alone, I guess?” My words sound more like a question as I push them past my lips. “I mean even when I was, I didn’t feel it because of Jefferson.” My brow furrows thinking about him and the immediate warm and fuzzy response of my body. My hand reaches down—instinctually, now—to punch my thigh with as much force as I can muster to hit myself—which, granted, is not a lot.

Archie’s brows raise in interest at the reaction I display, “Why do you do that to yourself?” He sits forward, poised to stop me should it appear I would repeat the action.

A choked noise of consternation shrieks in my throat as memories and emotions flood me. I take a deep breath before responding, “My mind started to head down a road I deem undesirable.” My eyes avoid Archie’s as my voice drops to a murmur. “It’s just a form of self-correction.”

“I can see that thoughts of this person are very distressing to you, Lee.” Archie shifts in his seat, crossing his legs. “I won’t assume anything about your relationship with them and I won’t push you to talk about them.” A sigh escapes my lips in relief. “But I will say that talking about it might help your mind let go of those negative feelings. You came to me because you know I will help you to the best of my abilities. There’s no judgement here—only guidance.”

I lean back on the couch, letting my body sink back and my head roll up toward the ceiling. My eyes close, my body stills, but my mind whirs.

“I’ve never been in a romantic relationship before,” I begin, the words flowing out of my lips steadily and as monotonously as I can manage, “well, before Jefferson. We ran into each other one night on my walk home and then I started seeing him everywhere. It was nice because he made me feel—” I broke off, unable to find the right word to convey the depth of the comfort I got from his presence. I sigh, “I don’t know. It was perfect—or as close to it as I had ever come in my life. He felt so right whenever I saw him. He was charming and handsome and before I knew it, I was in love with him. And I had only known him for a short period of time. It seemed crazy—I knew it was—but I couldn’t help it when all of it felt like it was destiny.

“But I ended it,” I continued, shaking my head as if I could physically shake the thoughts of him out of my mind. Archie probably wouldn’t take too kindly to me hitting myself again. “And I had good reasons and I won’t go back to him. But almost all of my subconscious wants to—even though I know he’s not the person I thought he was.” I rake my hands through my hair, disrupting the bun I have pulled together at the base of my skull. I pull out the hair tie and let my hair flow through my fingers as I twist my hair back to its style. “Then there’s Kristen, who has been so helpful since she saw my breakup breakdown.” I sigh. “I think she’s been sending me signals in a romantic sense. And I really like it. But is it too soon to jump into something new? What does it say about me that I want to, but don’t exactly know the reason why? I need your help, Archie. You’re the only one who can help me make a decision because you know me.”

My eyes plead with him as I finally look back to him. His pen rests on his lip as his brow furrows in concentration. I know he is processing, so I don’t rush him as he observes me closely. My eyes turn to the clock, watching the minutes tick past. His sigh alerts me to his coming to a conclusion. I draw my attention back to him as he lowers his pen and looks away for a moment at his notes.

“Lee,” he starts, his tone reminding me of the old-fashioned TV dads that I used to watch on Saturday mornings in my childhood, “I think that your first relationship was tempestuous and intense. I can understand why you feel stuck on it and I understand you have your reasons for leaving.” I look down to my hands before refocusing on his frizzy orange hair—thus avoiding his direct gaze. “You’re a young woman in the prime of dating. You need to follow what feels right.” I open my mouth to respond, but he raises a hand to stop my interruption. “I know that is difficult for you—because you second guess yourself. I suggest you seek out what you are comfortable with. You’ve had some experience with a romantic relationship with Jefferson and now you’re curious about someone new. It’s perfectly healthy to want to pursue it.”

“You really think so?” I ask in a voice so quiet I feel like he might not hear me. Trepidation boils in my gut as I look up to Archie.

His confidently caring smile is my response as he nods his head. The left side of my lips quirk up in a grin. My hands smooth out my jeans as I agree a little more confidently. We set up my time for my next appointment and I walk out of his office and down to my shop to check in with Caroline and Natalia.

My feet stop short as I see Kristen waiting for me, leaning on the counter chatting with Caroline. I smile when I see her, looking so comfortable here. My heart should be fluttering—seeing the sun hitting her just right, making her glow. She looks like a classical painting in her posture and I take a moment to appreciate her beauty before speaking up.

“Hey,” I address them both. “How’s it going?”

Kristen immediately perks up and smiles in my direction, “I was just talking to Caroline about how she would feel letting her boss go out to dinner with me.” I roll my eyes as I approach. Kristen embraces me and places a kiss on my cheek. I return the embrace and grin down at her face.

“Her boss isn’t even working right now,” I reply to her and turn my head to Caroline. ”I just wanted to know if you guys needed anything, just to check in.” My manager smiles at me.

“We’re doing fine. Natalia just left to get us our dinner. You should get some too,” she says, adding a wink to the end. My cheeks heat up with fire as I blush scarlet and determinedly avoid Kristen’s gaze. Though I do feel her body shake as she snickers.

“Right,” I reply, much too loud and higher in octave. I quickly release Kristen and walk toward the door with stilted steps.

Kristen follows along and we make our way toward The Rabbit Hole. The bar is noisy and crowded with workers from the docks and the factory. I take Archie’s advice and allow myself to relax naturally into her. Though as I sit beside Kristen in the booth, the heated weight of eyes watch me and tingle at the top of my spine. I scan the surrounding patrons and find familiar enough faces, but not the one I’m looking for. Though the feeling of the gaze does not let up.

I brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear and turn away from the din of the bar and back to Kristen. Her smile takes my mind off of the feeling of eyes watching me. We laugh and tease each other, talk about our days, and I let her more-than-friendly touches linger—returning a few myself. We eat the pub-style food and drink only slightly more than we should. A pleasant warmth of tipsiness floods through my veins as we stand on barely unstable legs and walk out into the brisk night air.

We walk down the street—with only a few stumbles—wrapped together for support and stop outside our apartment building. Kristen reaches around me and pulls at the tie keeping my hair in a bun. Her clumsy fingers don’t pull too much and begin to run through the strands, playing with the ends.

“I have a confession to make,” she simpers as her gaze focuses on brushing through my hair. “Though how much of a confession it is, I’m not sure.”

I look down at her and wait for her to continue. When more than one moment passes and she doesn’t say anything. I tilt her chin up to meet my eyes and ask, “And what would that be?”

“I really like you, Lee,” she mutters, avoiding my gaze initially. Her clear gaze returns to mine as she keeps going. “As in the ‘can’t stop thinking about you, seeing your face makes me want to smile, I just want to make you happy’ kind of like.” Her determination flows from her like lava, burning and invasive—though her smile remains coy.

At a loss for an actual response, I nod with a murmur of “okay,” as a chuckle bubbles up my throat. “You really know how to get your point across, don’t you?”

Her smile brightens up her face as hopeful eyes gaze into mine. “Okay?” she repeats, her unspoken question loud and clear.

“Okay,” I respond with a tilt of my head. With a slight lean, I put my lips close enough so that she can kiss me with the slightest incline of her head.

She relishes the opportunity and plants a firm, but chaste kiss on my lips—which morphs more into a smile as she draws away. She nods, grabs my hand in hers, and leads me upstairs to our apartments. We bid each other goodnight and return to our homes—though she takes the chance and calls me back for one last goodnight kiss before bouncing through her door.

I enter my apartment, greeted at the door by Marie as she sits waiting for me. I feed her dinner and start to undress. Up in my bedroom, I glance at the heavy drapes covering my window. My heart tugs in my chest, but I ignore it in favor of slipping my sleep shirt over my head and flopping onto my bed.

The next morning, I awaken to find Marie sitting next to my head, paws batting at my hair. I groan and roll over. My companion mews insistently in my ear before I grin and roll over, pitching my legs over the side of my bed and standing. In a daze of sleep, I stand while stretching my back with a massive yawn and draw the curtains away from the window. I smile into the fresh morning light that barely breaks over the horizon before realizing my mistake and quickly closing my drapes.

I scuttle away and start preparing for the day. A shower washes the sleep away before I dry my hair, apply my makeup, and dress myself in a pinafore dress, a plain shirt, and a chunky cardigan. I grab Marie’s dish and feed her breakfast while munching on my cereal.

Waiting on my phone is a text from Monty, asking some question about our lunch, to which I quickly reply. I grab my keys and a heavier jacket. Rolling my knitted thigh-high socks up my legs and tying my shoes, another text pings to my phone. My eyes lock on the name. My vision shakes as I try to breathe through the simultaneous panic and warmth as I scan Jefferson’s words.

‘I need you.’

I shake my head, pull on my boots and storm out my door with all of the necessary belongings in hand. My key jams into the lock of my door while I delete the text message. My finger hovers over the button to block his number, and I hesitate.

“Good morning, Lee,” Kristen coos from her doorway. I turn, abandoning thought of my phone, with a shy smile spreading across my lips. ”You look absolutely lovely today.” Her eyes scan my body in a lackadaisical sweep. She takes a sip from the cup of coffee she cradles in her hand.

“Thank you,” I murmur, checking the time on my phone and contemplating why I’m not blushing when I feel like I should be. As 7:50 AM approaches, I shuffle on my feet. “I’ll see you later.” Before I can turn away completely toward the stairs, a strong drafty wind rushes through the hallway.

My hair rustles behind me as memories flood through my mind of my life—the enchanted forest, Rapunzel and Gothel, Grace and Jefferson. I catch my crumpling form on the wall with a steadying hand. My brow furrows as I piece together who I am and my life in Storybrooke.


	18. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The curse has been broken in Storybrooke, but not everything is fixed.

“You’re here?” The voice asks behind me, almost quiet enough to miss. It draws my attention away from my thoughts and toward the sound.

“Ra-Rapunzel?” I question and rub my eyes as I see the girl standing before me. I scan her body, looking at the auburn hair I used to love to stroke my fingers through. Her eyes widen as she stares at me—fear clouding her vision. My memories align like a rubber band snapping back into place.

“What’s happening? James and I were—” she abruptly stops speaking, her hand covering her mouth as her face contorts in horror. My feet take an instinctual step forward to comfort her. She backs away. “You and I…we…I—”

“We were cursed,” I reply to try and ease her mind. Dawning realization, however courses through me and my priorities surface. I turn back toward my door and unlock it, Antoinette darting out and climbing up my body to rest on my shoulders. A breath of relief bursts past my lips—she’s still the size of a house cat, but my constant companion soothes me. “I have to go.” I once again lock my apartment and shrug with an apologetic smile.

I turn away from Rapunzel and scurry down the hallway—out of the building and toward the refreshing cold air of the morning. To think I would have adored the life the curse picked for me—a romance with Rapunzel, domestic bliss, and a comfortable standard of living—if only I hadn’t met Jefferson and Grace in the forest. My head shakes in rueful contemplation and I turn in the direction of the school bus stop. My feet race down the pavement in search of the girl I swore to protect.

She’s standing amongst the other children, looking around in confusion. Tears drip from her eyes as her white knuckles grip the hem of her uniform skirt in distress.

“Grace,” I call with my rapid approach. I skid to a stop before her and fall to my knees. “Sweetheart, I’m here.” My breath comes in pants out of my lungs as my body tries to cool down from the exertion. “It’s alright. We’ll be okay. We’re fine.” Antoinette jumps from me to circle around Grace in a bid to soothe the girl as she did with me.

“Willow,” her wobbly voice replies with a sniff. Her arms loop around my neck with the strength of an anaconda. Her face buries itself in the juncture of my shoulder and throat. I cradle her head and wrap and arm around her waist. “Where’s Papa?” she whispers in the embrace.

“I don’t know,” I choke out past a slowly closing throat. My emotions strangle me as I replay my relationship with Jefferson—both before and during the curse. One of my hands drifts to Antoinette’s fur, trying to draw comfort for myself. “There’s a lot that we have to talk about, him and I. So I promise I will find him.” I pull her face away from my body so I can look into her eyes as I make my vow. I stand up and take her hand in mine. “Let’s go.”

On the horizon, a great billowing cloud of purple smoke blankets the town. I mutter a curse under my breath. Grace squeezes my hand and I pull her body into my side to protect her as best I can. It sweeps over us like a tidal wave, thicker than regular smoke—sticking to the palate as we breathe it in. As quick as it appears and covers us, it draws away, sinking into the ground and disappearing around the corners of the streets. I pull away from Grace to look her over. My eyes drop to Antoinette—who also appears unchanged. As we all stand unharmed, I continue to pull us toward my shop—somewhere close, somewhere safe.

My store is dark and empty of people—much too early for someone to be here even if the curse wasn’t broken. I quickly enter, my hands starting to shake as I pull Grace behind me. Dropping my keys on the counter, my eyes slide over to the cash register. Or—rather—what is thrown atop it, draping over the machine.

My fingers reach out on their own. The fabric feels familiar and warm in my grasp. There is no indication from where it came as my eyes scan the empty space. Before I can stop myself, I drape the cloak around my shoulders. A warming liquidity sears under my skin, crackling in intensity. And I know that my magic has begun to try and work.

Yet the voice, the call, the buzz of the universe remains silent. I reach out with all I have, using my magic to try to search for it, but nothing responds. I suck in a deep breath and try to accept this new turn of events.

My eyes fall to Grace as she holds Antoinette in her arms like a beloved teddy bear that brings her comfort. I step toward her. She smiles as she looks up to me.

“You look a little silly like that,” she giggles. My eyes scan down my form—the dissonance of my modern fashion and the old cloak, earthen and worn.

“I suppose you’re right,” I shrug as I pull my hair out of the collar and drag the arms of my cardigan off my shoulders. The fabric of the cloak drags through my fingers as I feel the length of it. Magic hums around me as it begins to shorten until it rests as a capelet around my shoulders. “Better?” Grace nods and, with her approval, I nod in response.

“What now?” she asks as we stand in the quiet of my store. My eyes scan the room as I try to think of what to do. I know that finding Jefferson should be one of the highest priorities. I pick up my keys from the counter turning back toward the door.

“First, let’s try to find your dad,” I start to list on my fingers. “Then, we can decide what we need to do together.” As I speak, Grace’s face quirks in confusion. I look down at her, inquiring as to her sudden change in expression.

“You and my Papa,” she begins as Antoinette jumps out of her arms. The cat climbs up my body and disappears inside the fabric of my short cloak. We watch the cat move—Grace looking for the right words and my mind ringing panicked klaxons at the realization of what she’s curious about.

I gulp and breathe deeply through my nose before conceding, “That is something we will definitely need to talk about.” I nod and clap my hands together. ”But we need to go see him first.” I point to the door and mutter a half-hearted ‘let’s go’. Grace follows me as we head to my car and get in, buckling our seatbelts.

The twisting drive to Jefferson’s mansion is filled with silence as Grace watches the scenery for the first time and dread starts to slowly fill in my gut. I know my memories of the forest—of having a home with Jefferson and Grace. But I also know the Jefferson of Storybrooke with our relationship and his stalking, obsessive tendencies. I shake the thoughts out of my head as I glance over at Grace. Her hands grip her seatbelt—in excitement or nerves, I can’t tell. When her eyes meet mine, I send over a reassuring smile.

As we pull up to Jefferson’s mansion, I look out the windshield to the dark windows of the house. It seems abandoned almost, with how empty it looks. Even the front door stands slightly ajar as I step out of the car.

“Jefferson?” I call out as Grace exits the car. She walks over and grabs my hand as I lead her up and inside the house.

We walk the hallways together, finding nothing but a thin layer of dust on the surfaces. Each hallway twists and turns throughout the house, but we find our way through every room, searching for Grace’s father. We find him nowhere. Each glance into an empty room cause Grace’s shoulder to droop just a fraction more until we walk back to the front door. Both of us silently return to our seats in the car and I start the engine.

We return to town, Grace sitting dejectedly in the passenger seat. I look over at her and bite my lip as I contemplate what to say. Both of us decide to visit my sister—who isn’t really my sister—to discuss the situation with Grace.

It takes some convincing and some discussion before Grace and I find our way to my apartment. Antoinette jumps from my shoulders as soon as I cross the threshold and stalks around the apartment—her posture exuding her predatory nature despite her size. Grace, by comparison, skitters into the space taking in the rooms like she’s never seen it before. I pull her into a hug and set her on the couch while I get a snack for both of us.

Both realities clash together in my head—simultaneously spurring understanding and perplexity by what is happening. I place plates of fruit and nuts and crackers and cheese on the coffee table in front of us and contemplate how to start the conversation.

“So,” I begin, drawing out the sounds of the words in the hopes that my mind with think of more to say. ”I’m sure your father will come looking for—”

“What happened between the two of you?” Grace demands, cutting off my reassurance. “I know the two of you were a couple. Papa said he loved you on that one day. We watched movies and all cuddled together. So why isn’t he here now?” Her face scrunches in confusion and irritation.

My ability to form coherent words vanishes. I sputter. I close my mouth and sink my head into my hands as Grace watches me—waiting for an answer.

“Don’t we get to be a family all together?”

Tears prick my eyes as I look to the girl sitting next to me. “I don’t know, Grace. Your father,” my voice cracks so I clear my throat, “he knew about the curse before it was broken. It wasn’t easy for him. I think he needs time to process everything, maybe?” I shrug my shoulders. “I do know that he doesn’t want to be found right now, or we would have run into him.” I run my fingers through my hair. Antoinette jumps up on my lap and curls up in a ball. She purrs in contentment. Grace reaches over and strokes her fingers through the fur. “All we can do right now is carry on and wait for the day your father comes for you.”

Grace nods unconvinced and agrees to carry on—go to school, do her homework, take care of herself. We make posters together that she can post on public notices so Jefferson knows she is looking for her Papa. But that’s all she does. She falls into a comfortable routine. I do the same as days pass and there is no sign of Jefferson popping back into our lives. I take that quiet time on those days to contemplate how I should react to him. My mind cycles through what I suppose my reaction should be—reuniting father and daughter before walking away. But each time my heart gives a devastated tug at the thought.

What Jefferson did to my human self was unacceptable, but knowing everything now—I just couldn’t—I couldn’t blame him. Being separated from his daughter for decades without a way to get back to her, without her recognition. I can’t hold his actions against him. But I can question my role in it. A discussion will take place when he comes around because I need to understand why I was such a large part of his obsession—of that I am absolutely determined.


	19. Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee finds the closure she has always needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter—it’s kinda long, buckle in. I hope you liked it. Leave me a comment to tell me what you think, I would love the feedback. Give me kudos if you want. 
> 
> But most importantly, thanks for reading!

I sigh as I sit at my counter. People still need clothes—despite their true identities being revealed. Natalia quit immediately after the curse through a brief text. But when I showed up again to my store, Caroline stood behind the register with a bright smile on her face.

So I watch the clock hands tick by the time—lost in thought even as the bell rings over the door.

“Where’s your head, girl?”

I perk up at the sound of the familiar voice. “Monty!” I cry, rushing out from behind the counter and into his waiting arms. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed him for our lunches. He embraces me in a tight hug. Tears spring to my eyes as I draw away for a good look at him.

“So, tell me,” he begins with a chuckle. “What did I miss?” 

And like a dam bursting, I tell him about everything—from my very first meeting with Jefferson in the Enchanted Forest. Monty listens. He asks a few clarifying questions, but he lets me talk. I unburden myself of all of my own questions and anxiety and it doesn’t seem to bother him.

“And, I guess, that’s just it,” I finish, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t really know where to go from here.” My shoulders shrug as I look to my friend for his opinion.

He takes a slow sip of the tea he brought for us to share, “Well, he’s definitely in love with you.” He places his cup down as I open my mouth to protest. “And I’m talking before the curse, too.” He leans back in his chair examining me. “Though I suppose you probably wouldn’t have realized it at the time.”

I shake my head, “What are you talking about, Monty?” My body leans back in my chair, completely denying his outrageous claims. I look at my friend through the corner of my eye. His incredulous smile greets me.

“You think I’m joking?” Monty leans toward me now. “I’m a man. I’ve found my true love and I know exactly how it feels and what it looks like.” He reaches out and grabs my hand in his own. “Look, from what you’ve told me, I think he’s probably wanted you from the first moment he saw you.”

I scoff, shaking my head and trying to pull my hand away.

“Lee, listen to me.” He shakes my arm in his grip. “Men are simple. They see someone they like and the desire is immediate. It’s not a slow feeling—it’s fast and intense. Coupled with whatever else he’s been through, I can imagine the toll it’s taken on you both.” He takes a deep breath before clearing his throat. “Because I know you love him too.”

I sigh and rub my forehead. The blood drains from my face as anxiety takes over. I can’t understand why Monty would think Jefferson—it doesn’t make sense to me. Of course I knew that I…

“Lee, sweetheart, talk to me,” Monty prompt. “I can see your head whirring.” I look up to my friend and a small, pained whimper escapes my lips.

“What do you want me to say?” My eyes reach for the ceiling. I sniff away the tears, trying to figure out what Monty expects. “I have to take care of Grace. She’s my priority now because Jefferson isn’t here.” My voice rises an octave in anger. “His daughter is hurting and he can’t pull his head out of his ass long enough to see it. And you come in here, touting that he’s _in love_ with me. It’s too much to take in. And it reeks of bullshit. Cause if he was so in love with me why did he leave in the first place and, more importantly, why hasn’t he come back now that everything is over and done? Why hasn’t he tried to even talk to me?” I sigh and slump in my chair, absolutely defeated.

We sit in silence as the clock ticks by. Loneliness creeps through my body from my extremities toward my heart. I can feel the icy chill of it and I swallow back tears. My hand rubs over my face and I turn my eyes to Monty.

“Well that’s my problems all hung out to dry,” I jest as Monty’s gaze turns toward me. “Tell me, how have you been holding up since the curse broke?”

His face brightens immediately and his knees bounce in excitement. “First day broken, and I find my true love. She’s just walking down the street,” he chuckles, “Turns out she was looking for me, too.”

A smile breaks over my lips. “And you’re both alright? It must be difficult when you’re stuck here.”

“It’s better when we’re together,” he replies with a shrug. “Me and my girl, we can get through anything.” He pulls out his phone and unlocks the screen, flipping through his photo album as he searches for something in particular. He turns the screen toward me to show the picture of his true love—a selfie of the two of them. “Of course we look a bit different now, but she’s still my—”

“Rapunzel,” I complete his sentence. “She was my neighbor, Kristen, and a good friend in the forest.” My heart feels light as his pleased gaze turns toward me. I don’t feel the sting of heartbreak—not at all. Instead, I feel so ecstatic for my friend. “The two of you are lovely together.” I smile.

He shifts in his seat. “She told me about you, you know?”

I smile, “I hope only the good things.” I look away from his phone to gauge his reaction.

His soft smile is reassuring. “She told me you were her only friend, that she thought the two of you could have been more. How the two of you were neighbors here and more than good friends. But then I came upon her tower and the curse broke here, and it was like finding home.” He runs his hand over his head in a show of self-deprecation. “Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I guess being a true love will do that.” There’s doubt in his eyes—he’s scared that he’s hurt me.

“Well, I won’t say it didn’t hurt, initially, when I realized that she left,” I chuckle to assure him of the nonexistence of any hard feelings. “But when you put the puzzle together, I think that the two of you were made for each other.” I smile. “Things turned out the way fate intended—despite the curse and anything that happened between that point and this one.” He grabs my hands in his and his eyes turn serious.

“And now it’s time you listen to fate yourself, Lee, despite the curse and anything that happened between that point and this one,” his brow scrunches as he speaks—throwing my words back at me. I sigh and nod in acceptance. He stands, pulling my body upright with him. “You know, I think it’s time for a proper introduction.” He releases one of my hands and folds his body in a deep, royal bow. “Sir Charles Auguste Montgomery James, at your service, fair maiden.”

My head cocks to the side as I admit, “I don’t remember my true name, but Grace and Jefferson called me Willow.” I curtesy to him in similar fashion and nearly lose my balance.

Monty pulls me up with a laugh and decides that the two of us could use some good food. He drags me behind him to his home—a nice house just down the road from the Mayor’s residence. Rapunzel greets us at the door with a smile and affectionate kiss to her true love. It warms my heart to see them together. And I know that fate and the universe conspired to let me see this moment and feel peace.

We enjoy our time together before I head back to my shop and finish my day behind my counter, reading a book and waiting for the time Grace’s school bus pulls up to the curb. People come in to shop, the bell jingling overhead. My phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket and glance down at the notification. Jefferson’s name stares back at me in the contact spot.

‘I’m ready to talk to Grace.’

I roll my neck and sigh as I unlock my screen and respond with a simple, ‘alright’. My phone returns to my pocket and I ignore the jolt of my heart when his text doesn’t include me. I brace myself for the bus’s arrival. It stops so close to my store, I’ll be seeing everything that happens through my front window.

The clocks ticks by until it’s almost 3 o’clock. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the bright yellow of the school bus as I ring up a customer. I finish the transaction quickly and wait. Kids disembark and start walking toward their homes. Grace steps off.

Through the front window, I hear the muffled call of her name. She runs to her father who collapses to his knees as he hugs her. He stands with his daughter still in his arms and walks off.

Not even a thought of me crosses their minds. I smile—a small, watery smile—and walk back behind my counter. They have each other now and can build their life together here.

Caroline comes in for the evening shift, greets me with a smile and chirpy ‘hello’. I return her sentiment and head home to my apartment. I feed Antoinette as she stalks out of my cloak. My fingers rub her cheeks and scratch her back near her tail. My one constant companion.

Making my dinner goes easily as my body runs on autopilot. I eat the food I prepare with little enthusiasm. I complete my nightly routine earlier than usual—exhausted by the day and ready for my body to turn off for the night. My comfort, snuggled tight in my bed is interrupted by my phone buzzing in its charging station downstairs. I groan and roll out of bed. My feet trudge down every step taking me to the bright screen.

‘I want to see you,’ the notification reads.

Jefferson once again. A whine exits my throat. My shoulders slump and I run a hand through my hair. I take a moment to contemplate my readiness to confront Jefferson about everything. My feet stomp up my stairs and I head straight toward my window, whipping the heavy curtains out of the way. I pose for a moment before the glass—feeling foolish, but hoping he gets the message—and turn back to bed.

I don’t respond to the text, my phone placed forgotten on my bedside table. My body merely flops onto my sheets and I let my mind drift to sleep.

A thunderous knock wakes me—snapping me out of a deep, black slumber. I groan and roll over to check the time. 3:15 AM stares back at me from my phone screen. The knocks keep banging at my door. Eventually, to give my remaining neighbors some peace, I pull my body out of bed. A yelp escapes my lips as I miscount the steps going down my stairs and the knocking stops.

My hand comes up to rub away the sleep from my eyes as a yawn bursts forward—my jaw cracking with it. I stretch my back and open my door—my whole body moving to the sway of the motion—murderous look firmly in place.

Jefferson stands just outside, surrounded by a halo of hallway light. The expression on my face does not twitch as he looks up from his feet. Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I lean on the doorway waiting for him to speak. He shifts under my gaze, but does not move his lips or let out a sound. I wait until another yawn breaks over my lips before moving to close the door.

“Wait,” he insists as his hand grips the door, preventing me from closing it. “I’m sorry, Willow, please.” I sigh and gesture for him to enter my home. The door closes with a soft thud behind us as I retreat from him. His hands push deep into his pockets as he waits for me—though I cannot fathom what he expects me to say.

I sit on my couch in the corner, curled up with my arms wrapped around my legs. A barricade of pillows surround me as Jefferson observes me getting comfortable. Antoinette stalks around the perimeter of the room, not getting too close. Jefferson approaches and takes a seat on my coffee table. His hands withdraw from his pockets and start to knead together between his spread knees. He watches them for a moment while I keep my eyes on his form.

He breathes a sigh and begins, “I talked to Grace’s Storybrooke parents, they’re watching over her right now because I had to see you—talk to you. I’m so sorry, Willow.” His eyes look up to me. “I’ve been making bad decisions, one right after the other and I—” Tears pool in his eyes that he quickly wipes away. “I won’t ask for your forgiveness. You told me not to trust the queen, but I was greedy and wanted so much more for Grace.” He huffs a sardonic laugh. “And, of course, Regina betrayed me and left me to rot with the Queen of Hearts in Wonderland.” He grabs at his signature scarf and pulls it free of his neck. “You did ask, once, how I got this.”

Seeing the scar with my open, curse-free eyes, a lump of emotion chokes my throat. My hands itch to reach out and trace the line across his neck—to kiss away the pain of separation and the resulting madness. But I hold myself back.

“Then we come here—I don’t know how,” he says as he shakes his head. “And I’m trapped in my house until I take a walk through town every night to bump into you.” I look away as his eyes lock onto me. My body tenses as it shrinks for cover in retreat. “I don’t know how, but I knew—everything. I remembered every moment spent with you and Grace in the forest, in our home. But you didn’t.” He runs his hands through his hair and leans over as his voice cracks, “Twenty-eight years seeing you—bumping into you, catching you in my grasp—and not one spark of recognition in your eyes. And Grace kept living with her so-called parents and I could only see her through a telescope.” He sniffs back his tears and looks at me, I meet his gaze through my lashes. “It’s enough to drive you mad—well, madder than I already was.” He huffs another chuckle under his breath and shrugs. “So as soon as I saw the savior—Emma—in our town, I knew it was my chance to have you and Grace in my life again. I used everything I knew about you—from years of watching you—to get closer. I manipulated you because I couldn’t spend one more day without your recognition. And then Grace was there—my daughter so closely related to you. I thought, despite the curse, that maybe the fates were conspiring for us so we might get our happy ending.”

I clear my throat and turn my gaze away from him, “I made a deal with Rumplestiltskin so that I could protect Grace. I exchanged my cloak so that I could make sure she was safe and happy during the curse.” I don’t look back to him—aching to see his reaction to this revelation, but resolutely against it. “That’s why I was her aunt—why she came over so often and had such a close relationship with me.”

His hands reach toward me in my periphery, but halt and retract before touching me. “Thank you,” he whispers. I shrug in response and glance at him through the corner of my eye. He watches me for a moment before continuing. “After I realized that you wouldn’t remember on your own, and neither would Grace, I became determined to keep you close to me. But you found the telescopes and ran.”

My brow furrows as I try to gather my response for him. My mind races. I clutch the pillow closest to me in a death-grip. But he keeps talking.

“And it got much worse after that,” he admits. “I kept my eyes on you and Grace whenever I could. Watching your days from far away. I saw you with your neighbor,” his voice drops off for a moment as his pained eyes search for mine. “I kidnapped Mary Margaret and Emma to try to pressure the savior to make a new portal. I wanted to grab you and Grace away from here by force—take you home to our land—whether you liked it or not. I was broken and everything was taken from me. I made another deal with Regina.” A sarcastic smile breaks over his face. “Which of course, she betrayed. So I plotted against her and realized that the man I am now,” he pauses for a few beats. My heart thunders in my chest. I hadn’t realized how mangled he had become. “The man who would do anything to regain his daughter, the man who manipulated you and violated you—I wasn’t the kind of man you would love. But I had to see you one more time. Tell you that no matter what, I will take care of my Grace. I—” his voice cracks. “I’ll be good—the father she deserves. I learned my lesson, I promise.” He hesitates, his eyes roving over the floor as his hands clasp together. His brow furrows and his teeth sink into his lip. “And—and I had to tell you, I love you—even if it’s the last time I get to say it.” His eyes meet mine, though tears blur my vision. I bury my face in a pillow to soak up the moisture and look back to Jefferson.

I speak around the boulder that has lodged in my throat. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.” My voice scrapes out of my lips as I keep my eyes away from the man in front of me. Through my peripheral vision, I see him looking away, turning his knees and hunching his shoulders. “And I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened.” I stutter over the words as I try to think of something to follow them.

We sit in silence, each observing the other, as we both wait for the next words to be spoken. The time stretches in an elastic tensions—ready to snap back or break. Jefferson keeps his eyes on me. My face remains turned away.

I pull a deep breath through my nose and sit up straight before starting to talk once again. “I remember in the forest, I made you a promise to be there when you need me—always.” I turn my face to Jefferson, his eyes filling incrementally with hope as each word passes my lips. The pillow blockade falls to the floor as my feet shift on the seat. My body turns to sit properly on the couch. “I intend to keep that promise, if you will let me.” My lips stretch in a small, tentative smile. My voice drops to whisper, “We have a lot to work on together. But you were right—we’re a family. I can’t walk away from Grace.”

I reach over—my muscles rejoicing in the motion—to grab one of his hands in mine. His fingers grip mine like a man hanging onto a cliff. I pull my arm, not drawing away, but hoping to pull him toward me. He doesn’t budge, but doesn’t release me either. His body freezes in place as he tries to interpret my movement away from him.

“Please,” I beg as I keep pulling. His heart breaks in his eyes as he comes to the wrong conclusion. His fingers begin to release me, but I whimper and grip his hand tighter. My other hand raises to latch onto his arm. “Please, just—come here,” I whisper. With a resurgence of the strength of his grip, Jefferson’s eyes fill with fire as his jaw clenches and he follows the draw of my hand.

He stands from my coffee table, looming over me with trepidation in every motion he makes. A shaking hand lifts from his side to rest on my cheek. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. My eyes meet his. My breath stutters with my heartbeat. He moves—his knee coming to rest on the couch cushion right beside me. I keep my hand on his arm and he keeps his free hand on my face, pulling my body in his direction. Our bodies begin to orbit one another again as our worlds realign around each other. Once he finally sits on the couch beside me, I relax.

“I’ve—” my voice cracks as tears distort tone and clog my throat. “I’ve missed you, even when I knew I shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, except to draw me closer and into the embrace of his arms. I mold my body to his and wrap my arms around him in return. “You have no idea,” he replies after a drawn-out minute. A incredulous chuckle rumbles in his chest as he pulls me closer—as if that would be physically possible. “We’ll work everything out, but I’m never letting you go again.” His promise rings in my ears and I nod into his chest.

My head raises to place a kiss at the base of his throat—where his scar runs deepest—before raising up to sit before him. My hands trace up his body, from his waist toward his strong arms and wrap around his shoulders to lace in the short hairs at the back of his neck. I pull him toward me with as much force as I can. Something deep in me hungers for the taste of his lips after being deprived for too long.

He holds my face away from him—his eyes gaze over every inch. A growl burbles in my throat at being denied while a pout pops out my bottom lip. Everything seems back on track, and yet he won’t lean those few inches closer.

“Willow,” he hesitates with a grin on his face. “Do you really want this right now?” His fingers bury themselves in my hair as I try to close the gap between us. His strength holds me back even as his gaze burns on my lips. His pink tongue darts out to wet his lips as he waits—and makes me wait.

“Yes,” I whine, pulling my hands away from his hair and grabbing onto his shirt. “Please, just kiss me—make me yours again. And then we can go home and go to bed and wake up with Grace.” I look up at him, waiting for his decision. As each second ticks by, disappointment creeps through me. A niggling thought permeates my brain—perhaps we’ve become too fucked up to come back together.

Jefferson’s brows tilt up in a vulnerable question. I nod my head once again and tug on his shirt. His thumb caresses my cheek as his eyes drop again to my lips. My tongue darts out to wet them. Jefferson mirrors the action. We sit, staring at each other as the anticipation sits heavy in the air. His thumb extends further, brushing across my lips in a gentle caress.

Then as if lightning cracks between us, in an instant we shift. Jefferson and I surge forward in synchronicity to lock our lips in a kiss—a force of nature we cannot deny. I sigh a whimper as his lips meld to mine. He swallows down the sound and grunts as he pulls me to sit astride his thighs.

Like the magic wind that brought back my memories, the events of our curse flies away as we kiss. Jefferson’s lips contort into a smile as he pulls away. A reflecting smile breaks out over my own as my forehead leans against his. A delighted giggle echoes through my apartment as it burst from within me. All the weight I’ve felt on my shoulders vanishes and I feel happy and carefree for the first time in what feels like forever.

“Let’s get going,” Jefferson suggests with his own chuckle brightening his tone. I nod in agreement and climb off of him. His arms chase me as he stands and pulls me back, close.

“Together?” I reply with my own question. Jefferson nods.

He takes a moment to look around us, grabbing his scarf from the table and gathering his things to leave. “We’ll have to figure out how to move all this stuff with your tiny car,” he jibes. My tongue sticks out at him as I retreat from his arms to go upstairs.

My hands throw in the first things they land upon as I pack an overnight bag—preparing for when the true morning light greets us. I reappear by Jefferson’s side and reach out my hand to his. His palm warms my icy fingers as his hand enfolds mine.

Antoinette climbs onto my shoulders as we face the door. My eyes drift over the possessions I will have to pack from my apartment—already cataloging and preparing. Jefferson squeezes my hand and walks us to open my door.

I turn back. I take a moment to reach out once again to try to feel the voice of the universe—send out a silent call in hope of a response, a reassurance. My eyes drift around as I wait. My hand rests holding the doorknob—it doesn’t seem to want to let go. My face drops incrementally as something that feels keenly like grief sets in. My brows pinch together. Nothing stirs in my veins, but I keep listening for a response.

“I’ve got you,” Jefferson murmurs, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. His arms draw me back to him as his lips find the crook of my neck. He repeats, “I’ve got you,” and then again until I melt into him. His hand runs over my arm and pulls mine away from the door. His reassurances send warmth through my body. Tingles glide up and down my spine as I relinquish my prior notions of the force that once drove my purpose.

My eyes turn to him and a grin spreads across my lips. He mirrors my gaze with a soft understanding—as if he knows how the universe has ceased its guidance. I sigh. His nose brushes mine affectionately. Magic crackles at my fingertips as I run them across his cheek and down his jaw. The muscles of his jaw twitch at the sensation. He leans closer for a kiss. Our lips brush together—once, twice, thrice—until the smile splitting his face breaks us apart. He turns me once again to face the hallway and closes the door behind us as we make our way to our home, our family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this wrap up of the story. A lot of thought went into making this sort of follow the structure of the show, with everyone being so interconnected during the curse. I enjoyed trying to format my story in the structure mirroring the episodes. This took me a few years to fully flesh out and edit. 
> 
> Thanks for following me on this journey.


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